Black & White
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: Why does Elphaba have scars? Deals with rape, and some violence, but is also centered around some powerful Fiyeraba. *Won second place for Best Original Character, and third place for Best Overall Story in the FanFic Awards. Read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**So I did some editing/reworking, since that's much easier once a story is complete. If you've never read this, I hope you enjoy. And please review, because reviews are always appreciated, no matter how old the story.**

**Also, shameless plug...my website is now up with pics of my Act II dress. The link is in my profile, or go to IAMELPHABAdotCOM (typed so fanfiction won't delete it).**

* * *

The following is based on these Wicked quotes, to answer some questions:

"_no, no, I'm not a harem, I'm not a woman, I'm not a person, no."_

"_You think all this is new to me," she said, sighing. "You think I am such a virgin."_

"_You didn't bleed the first time," he observed. "So what's to think about."_

"_There was an odd shadow near the groin-for a sleepy moment he wondered if some of his blue diamonds had, in the heat of sex, been steamed onto her own skin-or was it a scar?"_

"You are not a person."

The words were spat at her, yet his tone was flat and devoid of emotion. There was no undercurrent of feelings, no strong desire to wound. He just believed them to be truth. Still, she could not stop herself from hating him in return.

Elphaba was kneeling, with her knees bleeding from crawling across the uneven stone floor. She adjusted her gloves, pulling them over her elbows before she plunged her hand into a bucket of tepid, dirty water. Ever so carefully, she squeezed out the excess and worked the worn and frayed cloth over the floor, being very careful to clean the dust from between the stones. She had made the mistake of missing that only once.

His echoing footsteps announced his return to the room. He was dressed in an overcoat and carrying an umbrella. "You are not person," He reiterated, "Therefore you do not need new clothes. Do not ask me again. Should your things wear out, you can clean the floors naked. It would probably help you to work faster," He gave no indication of noticing her horrified expression.

"I trust I won't have to worry about you wandering tonight," He smirked as fat, wet raindrops began to pelt the windows. With a chuckle to himself, he strode out the door, disappearing in a clamor of wood against stone.

The rain began to pound, sounding much like steel, like thousands of locks holding her in, nearly suffocating her. He was right. There would be no wandering tonight. This was her prison.

* * *

Much, much later, when the moon was high in the sky, Elphaba lay awake, trying to coil her body around the spring that protruded from her mattress. Since the spring afforded her little sleep, she found she had much time to think.

_When did it all get so complicated?_

That was tonight's question. Her keen mind tried to focus on the point at which things that had once seemed so clearly black and white had become sullied in shades of gray. Had she lost her conviction? Had she begun to care less?

_No! _

The strength of her reaction told her this wasn't the case. Animals still deserved to be free. They deserved to have their rights, to come and go as they pleased, to make their contributions to society. Yet something had been lost.

_Youth._

The word came to her suddenly, although she sensed the realization had been some time in coming, like a train that had been speeding toward her for miles, yet suddenly emerged out of a deep and heavy fog. She had lost the youthful passion that makes the divide between right and wrong so clear. At the onset of this journey, it had seemed so simple. Good verses evil. She and the Animals on one side of a battlefield, the Wizard and his supporters on the other. One clearly good, one clearly wicked. And wickedness must be punished.

Yet her master was an Animal.

He was a Bison, an intimidating figure. He stood nearly nine feet tall, and was still capable of standing upright. On the day of their first meeting, he had been dressed smartly, as always. His overcoat was impeccably neat, his shoes brightly polished. His fur had gleamed in shades of chestnut and ochre, brushed fastidiously. He carried a large book and seemed genuinely interested in the flyers she distributed that day. Since he had seemed to show interest, rather than brush past her in disgust, muttering insults, so she had spoken more openly than usual. She remembered she had eagerly told him of her hopes of establishing an Animal resistance, of garnering enough support to demand a meeting with the wizard.

"And where do you stay while you're in the city," He had asked.

She had nearly kicked herself for fumbling through her answer, for sounding weak. She had sworn to create ties with no one, to tell no one of the spot, under the East Bridge, where she curled up each night. She was a true warrior then, and only the cause had mattered.

"Perhaps we could……….benefit each other," He had begun. "You seem to be in need of a place to conduct your……..project, and I am need of some household help." He had laid out the proposition, detailing how he could provide at least a measure of shelter and food, in exchange for her maintaining his residence. "After all," He had mused, "it is difficult to get the dust from the cracks without opposable thumbs….."

She had hesitated at first, her desire for independence competing with the need to be out of the rain. _Baby steps, _She had told herself, _He helps me, I help him. We work together for the cause…_So she had agreed, following him across town to the walkup he called home.

"I'm sorry it's not more proper," He had developed an edge in his voice, "but Animals are forbidden to reside outside the seventh ward, as you know." He had dropped the word _you_ like acid off his tongue and, for a moment, she had hesitated. Yet she had followed him inside.

_Why? _She asked herself now. _Why did I trust? Why did I assume that good and evil were so easily distinguished? _

She quickly cut off the moment of self pity. After all, this was just another step. She would survive this, as she had survived everything else. She had learned to live without a mother's touch, a father's love. She had played maidservant to Nessarose and learned to turn a cold shoulder toward classmates with an endless line of green jokes. She had stayed in her room for every dance, every mingling of the sexes, training herself not to expect, not to venture into something she was not born for.

_I am not here to feel, _She repeated to herself, _I am here to change, to make change. Emotion is dirty, unnecessary. _

Even so, she fought back tears, fought so hard her throat ached and her eyes burned. She would not cry. She could not cry. She fell into a troubled sleep, her head aching from the effort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The following morning, the dim light filtered through her dusty window, illuminating each stain on the mattress. As her eyes focused, she could see that her dress was more in need of repair than she had imagined the night before. Holes were growing, working toward becoming inappropriate. In some places the fabric had worn so thin, the green of her skin could be seen. She would have to have a new dress, no matter what he said.

"Fae!" His voice bellowed up the narrow stairwell.

She had not given him her real name. She gave it to no one. She hurriedly brushed her hair back, securing it with a string before shuffling down the stairs. She knew better than to keep him waiting.

"Yes, Master Hadrick?" She addressed him, staring up at his imposing form as she descended the stairs.

"I expect when I return today that the floor will be finished?"

She nodded.

"And the clothes laundered?"

She nodded.

"And the silver polished?"

She nodded.

"And food prepared?"

She nodded.

"And there will be no wandering," He held her under a steady, unflinching gaze, "If you want to make a difference, you stay here. Show the rest of your kind how to be a servant."

"As if there are any more of my _kind_ anywhere," The statement was out before she realized it. No amount of servitude would calm her quick and sharp tongue.

For a moment there was no sound, and then he slapped her hard across the face, leaving a bruise where his roughened hoof connected with her cheekbone.

**************************************************

By the time the sun reached noon the next day, she had nearly finished the laundry. Her hands were sweaty and puckered from the gloves, but she dare not take them off. She plunged another set of trousers in the basin and cursed the water. Why must it be so pervasive, so necessary? If she ever succeeded at mastering the powers of sorcery, that would be her first spell - cleanliness without water, or maybe life without water. Or maybe that was impossible. Maybe her aversion to water was nature's way of telling her to die.

She shook off the thought before it could become a feeling. It was past noon and this was her only chance. She hung the last of the laundry and cast off the gloves. She dared not glance in the mirror as she slipped quietly out the back door.

Elphaba skirted through the backstreets, trying to keep to alleys and dark corners. After all, she did not exist. She had no reputation here, and she intended to keep it that way. She made her way several streets over; hoping memory would serve and take her to the open air fabric market she was familiar with. She used to hand out flyers there, hoping to dissuade people from purchasing fabric sheered off the very backs of unwilling Animals.

When she came upon the first of the vendors, she slowed her pace, falling in step with the crowd and struggling to look unassuming. It was altogether difficult, being green and all.

She spotted what she needed very quickly. An elderly woman was hawking fabric and dresses. The colors were drab, and yet they looked sturdy and unadorned. Elphaba crept behind the woman's stall, waiting until she was caught up in conversation with a mother toting several young girls and clearly in need of many things. With a cat-like lunge, Elphaba seized a deep gray dress and ran. She was nimble and quick, and almost soundless, and she knew it. In little more than a minute she was inside the walkup, clutching her prize and hearing no signs of followers.

_Someday I'll repay you, _she paid a silent homage to the hardworking woman from whom she had stolen, as she waited for the pounding of her heart to subside.

**************************************************

By the time Hadrick arrived home, she was placing the last of the silver in its cabinet. Dinner simmered on the stove. Hadrick sniffed his approval.

"You keep a fairly decent house, for a human," He smirked at her, "You'd make a decent wife, if indeed someone of your species would think to marry a green girl." He chuckled to himself while scraping a chair away from the kitchen table. As he sat, Elphaba ladled him a large bowl of stew. He gestured toward the pot, "Tonight you may eat."

She wanted to heave it at him, the whole steaming pot. _No, _she stopped herself, _emotion is unnecessary. You must eat, if you are to succeed at anything, even if it is at his table. _

So she sat, rhythmically spooning stew into her mouth, trying to remain small and uninteresting, and trying to conceal her great hunger. Last night, she had not eaten.

And then suddenly his eyes fixed on her, examining her. "Is that a new dress?" He barked.

She set down her spoon and met his stare. "Yes," She answered evenly.

He stood quickly, nearly overturning the table. In barely three strides he had crossed to her side. He swung his powerful arm around her neck and pulled her from the room into the open foyer.

"Where did you get it?" He demanded.

"From the vendors three blocks down," There was, after all, no use in lying.

"And with what payment?"

"You do not give me any money."

"So you stole it? So you are a thief?" His voice bellowed, his eyes flashed as he accused her.

"I am a thief because you have made me one! No person could be expected to wear the same dress for nearly a year and not-"

Hadrick swung his hand in a wide arch and connected with her face once again. "You are not a person!" His words echoed off the stone walls. "How many times must I repeat it? No human deserves the decency of being called a person! A person has feelings, has empathy and compassion! A person has soul. A person would never deny another creature its right to speech, or its freedom!" The shadows of the wrongs done to him flitted through his eyes as he spoke.

"I have tried to restore you right to speech! And look how you have repaid me!" Elphaba couldn't stop herself. Her convictions mattered more than her physical pain.

With a great roar, he pushed her to the floor, holding her down with one great hoof, pinning her by her hair with the other. "If you want to make a _difference_, you will accept your servitude. Show your kind how to serve a master, because soon this is what you will all be doing!" He heaved himself up and started out the door, then turned back, "Get upstairs. I think tomorrow you need to start earning your keep."

And then he was gone. She struggled to her feet, refusing to stay down. He could not keep her down. A small trickle of blood worked its way down her cheek and splashed onto the clean, stone floor. She would have to clean it again tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The night had been fitful, full of strange dreams that flitted through her mind but did not impress themselves on her consciousness. Elphaba woke feeling heavy and exhausted just as dawn cracked over the horizon. She lay very still, plotting her day.

Chores…..there were always the chores. It cut into her time, but she had to keep it up. If she could maintain this roof over her head just a little longer…….she almost had enough support to start a true resistance, to do more than pass out flyers and attend angry meetings led by abused Animals.

_Frederick, _ she remembered suddenly, _I must meet with Frederick today. _

She stood, surprised by how quickly she could muster strength when it came to her cause. Her last conversation with Frederick played through her mind as she dressed.

_We'll meet him in three days, _He had begun.

_Who?_

_You know I can't say his name._

_Oh yes…him. Three days?_

_Yes, at the clock tower. 1pm. Don't be followed._

_I am not such a rookie. And he is a part of the greater Resistance?_

_There are supposedly hundreds._

_Then we will overtake the Wizard!_

_You know……they have asked agents to commit murder..._

_I am ready._

And she was. Today would be the beginning of something. Today marked a new chapter. After today, she would never be the same.

She hurried down the stairs to start her morning chores. In near record time, she had set Hadrick off to work. His education afforded him the luxury of keeping his job as clerk and record keeper. A human capable of replacing him had obviously not yet come along. Any Animal keeping his job was good news to Elphaba, although most importantly his job gave her time to carry on her work.

After the door had slammed behind him, she whirled into a blur of activity. By noon the kitchen was scrubbed from top to bottom. Fresh fruit adorned the table. Hadrick's quarters had been dusted and polished, the linens changed. She stowed her cleaning supplies and slipped out the back door.

It was nearly twenty-five blocks to the clock tower that adorned the top of St. Aelphaba's cathedral. As she huffed and scurried down the street, Elphaba gave a moment's thought to the irony that this place bore her name. It could be destiny, if Elphaba believed there was something beyond herself moving things along. She sloughed it off.

_The job, the cause… that is your only focus. _

By the time she arrived at the church she was quite a sweaty mess. She wiped her brow briskly, removing the offending drops that stung her skin like saltwater to the eyes. She straightened her hair as best she could and slipped into the alley. It was dark, and cool despite the noonday sun. One could not avoid the stench of old meat and cat urine. She didn't pause to consider it. She moved quickly toward the alcove on the left and knocked firmly on the thick, oak door she found there. So far, all had gone well.

"Who is it?" Came a croaking whisper.

"One who wishes to become many," She gave her rehearsed reply.

The door swung openly quite soundlessly for its hulking size. She took the silence to mean she should enter.

She guessed the room was small, but neither sight nor sound could confirm it. After the door had swung quietly shut, she was shrouded in silence and a thick, palpable darkness. For several moments, only her breath stirred the air. She dared not speak.

"What is your name?" The voice came from nowhere.

"Fae."

"Is that your birth name?"

"No."

"Excellent. You would be useless had you just given me your real name. You will do nicely."

She did not have time to feel pride, as he spoke quickly, "You will find a vial in the trash receptacle outside this door in two days time. You will deliver it to the eighth ward post office by 3pm that day. Leave it in box 489. That is all."

There was another deathly silence. Elphaba was not entirely sure she if she had been left alone. She had to ask, "I've heard you dabble in murder…."

He seemed to understand her point. "All in due time," Was his reply. Then he was gone.

Elphaba walked the twenty-five blocks back with a combination of surging purpose and deflated expectation. She felt certain she had begun a new chapter. She was part of something bigger than herself. Yet her part seemed so small, so vague. She would be a pawn, if that's what was asked of her, if that's what was needed. But her mind was keen, questioning, wanting to understand, to see the whole picture with all its nuances, colors and possibilities. She was too intelligent, and despite her attempts at suppressing feeling, she cared too much about what was depicted in the puzzle to be content with carrying one piece. But it would do for now.

**************************************************

She returned to the walkup tired and grubby, with hunger pains gnawing at her gut. Mercifully, Hadrick had not yet arrived. She swiped an apple and devoured it, knowing she would receive her due lashing later. It was an acceptable sacrifice, as she could not conduct any mission if she starved. She would need to eat a little better from now on, even if meant thievery. She had grown thinner, leaner and more angular since her departure from Shiz. Age and lack of food had whittled her into harder version of herself.

She seized her favorite broom, tall and full-bristled, and began to methodically sweep the stairs. She had noticed a film of dust, and she might stem Hadrick's anger over the apple if she was ahead on her work. She had swept her way nearly half way down when she heard the creaking of the door and………voices? Typically, Hadrick was alone. He didn't keep much company. Of course, if one hates all humans, and all Animals who show compassion towards humans, who is left to fraternize with?

"Fae!" It was a slightly softer bellow than usual.

Hadrick found her on the stairs. He was accompanied by a shabbily dressed man of about thirty. The man clearly needed a good shaving and soaking, possibly in lye. He sniffled constantly and his cheeks jiggled a little with each rub of his nose. His fingernails were torn and unclean, yet he poked them in and out of his mouth, further assaulting them. He reeked of sweat and rum.

"This is Pierory. He will be dining with us," From Hadrick, this was an order, not an invitation.

Elphaba hurried to pull the bread and meat from the oven and slice fruit in a bowl. She stood solemnly over the table as the men were seated. Hadrick simply nodded to the third chair, indicating that she should sit. He could not very well outright deny her food in the presence of a human, even one as questionable as Pierory. Animals did not have that right.

Pierory ate noisily, slopping and grunting. He seemed quite hungry, and not quite human. Like a dog licking a dish after several days of scavenging. He was almost more animal than human. It seemed to Elphaba like another strange, mocking twist in this world she was unraveling.

_We are not all as easily defined as life would like us to be, _she couldn't help speculating.

And there it was again, that lack of black and white. She was again assaulted with blurred definitions and contradictions of character. There they sat, the Animal so unworthy of saving, the human lacking both ambition to persecute and stamina to defend, and the green girl, none of them black or white.

Elphaba's physical and mental exhaustion began to win her over at the conclusion of dinner. She cleaned quickly and thoroughly as Hadrick and Pierory disappeared into the study. She thought she heard what might be negotiations wafting from the room. She had just blown out the kitchen light and had set to work again on the stairs when Hadrick stopped her. Pierory stood beside him, a slight smirk on his face. He reluctantly handed over a fistful of sweaty cash, which Hadrick pocketed quickly.

"Tonight," Hadrick ordered, "you will begin to earn your keep."

Elphaba instantly put the pieces to this sordid puzzle together. Her long, slender fingers dug crescents into the broom handle and she pulled herself to her full height. "I will do no such thing," Her voice was a low growl.

Hadrick showed no emotion. "You do not have a choice," He answered flatly, "You are not a person." He turned leave, throwing over his shoulder, "Consider this a partial payment for the apple."

At this, Elphaba's sharp eyes met Pierory's equally dull ones. "You don't have the guts," She hissed at him.

But he seemed to enjoy the challenge, and thundered up the steps to seize her, broom and all. She fought him like the devil, biting and clawing at his back like a deranged, feral cat. Yet for all her height and presence, she was a waif to him, easily lifted up the steps to her dank and shadowy room. Her tossed onto the bed like used linens and started to undo his belt.

She bolted toward the window, clawing at the frame. The height made no difference, she'd sooner die. But he was surprisingly quick, and larger than she had noticed. He whipped her back onto the bed and straddled her, pinning her flailing body with his. In one motion he ripped his belt away and bound her hands to the cold, iron bed frame. She kicked and writhed, drawing up welts on her arms where the belt cut into her flesh. Yet the protest seemed to urge him on.

He threw up her dress, bunching it around her neck, nearly choking her. He ripped away her threadbare undergarments and stared hungrily down at her.

"You will make a nice whore," He drawled, "All the paying young men will want to ravage the green girl. It's quite a novelty…"

Her shame was physical, a searing, stabbing, aching tightness that overtook her entire body. Not since birth had she stood naked before anyone, and now she was bound and stripped, castrated of all dignity. She shook with rage and paralyzing fear, fear she had never felt. Devoid of her cover of clothing, brains and wit, she was just the green girl, naked for all to see. It was as if every mocking, slurring experience came rushing back to pile on her at that very moment, to remind her of every inadequacy and failure. She was weak and bound and powerless. She was no great revolutionist, but a freak of nature being forced to provide carnal pleasure.

She felt it before it happened. Something welled up in her, like hot steam exploding from her pores. Without the aid of human hands, the broom sailed across the room to strike Pierory across the back of his head. He turned and seized it as it fell to the floor, and smirked, "You provide the best of games. You will make a good whore," He chuckled, "Now let's see if all of you is green."

With that he took her forcefully, not bothering to remove his clothes. She clutched the bed frame until her hands went numb as he ripped in and out of her. She felt her body tear, and the blood run as he tore away her virginity, her pride, her very self. And then he was through, satisfied and no longer in need of the crumpled, discarded green trash on the bed.

He did up his trousers and flipped his hair back with his hand. "You will make a good whore," He slapped her thigh. He turned toward the door, and then ambled back over, pulling something from his boot. It was a small blade. "Almost forgot something," He boasted. In one gesture he slashed the insides of both her thighs. "Any man who visits down there will know what you are now," He slurred into her ear, "You're marked now, marked a whore." He whipped his belt from around her wrists and strode out the door. It slammed behind him, finality without closure.

**************************************************

Elphaba lay for a long time, unable to move, feeling as though a weight pressed down on her chest. She couldn't breathe. She would surely fall asleep from lack of breath and mercilessly leave this world behind. She didn't even need an afterlife, just release from the horror of herself. Yet the air cleared and she was alive, left to live yet another day with another scar.

After many slow, throbbing minutes the physical nature of this one began to nag at her. She could feel blood oozing down her thighs, wetting the bed sheet. Trembling violently, she sat up, slid herself off the bed and stumbled toward the washbasin. She cast her dress into the corner just as his warm, stinking fluid began to run down her thighs, mingling with her blood and making her wounds burn. She stumbled to her knees and the shaking became more violent. He wasn't even here and he was still causing her new pain!

She carefully dipped a cloth into the washbasin and rung it. Gingerly, she wiped the blood and mess from her thighs, wincing at the burn of the water on her skin. She had no choice, though. Saved only for the most severe circumstances, water was necessary. She painstakingly cleaned the wounds, knowing she would burn from the water for days, like a pale-skinned munchkin who stayed too long in the sun.

She could scarcely walk with the pain of the wounds mixing with the pain from the cleansing. She didn't even have any proper cloth to cover her injuries. She collapsed by the window, naked as birth and unable to find a reason to care now. She knew she made a ridiculous picture, naked and trembling, with long, wild, disarrayed hair. Her groin ached with violation and knife wounds. She felt the tears prick her eyes, and they ran before she could bite them back. The sting they made as they trailed down her face brought up something within her that was unlike anything she'd ever felt. It came out in the form of a scream, long, rich and guttural. It was almost inhuman, like an animal bellowing for its lost cub without the language to describe the pain. Wordlessly, she cried out to everyone and no one at once. She cried out in agony for her very birth, her constant ability to bring grief and strife, and to whomever her maker might be, for giving her so much pain, and a mocking inability to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The light above her swirled and twisted, its ebb and flow drawing her from the dark pool that held and rocked her. She was reluctant to leave the pool. Images seemed to flit around her, skimming the edges of consciousness. _Fear. Pain. Shame_. And then she felt herself being pulled, against her will, into the swirl and brightness of consciousness.

The floor was hard, cold and unforgiving. She felt each groove and splinter as they pressed into her bare back. Her body seemed to wake up slowly, finding itself part by part in a chain of different types of pain. Pounding head, throbbing wrists, the sting from her thighs mixed with the burn of water, and the overall ache of every muscle, every fiber from which she was made.

She considered not sitting up. She could just lie there forever, or until she starved and withered away, leaving this putrid place behind. Then the memories began to cement themselves in her mind, the blur of painful dreams becoming crisp, vibrant images in the light of day. Suddenly, the feeling of Pierory inside her overwhelmed her and she scrambled to the basin to vomit. She wretched until she was empty, and then somehow once again felt robbed.

_He's taken everything from me. I have nothing left._

A loud rapping on the door caused her heart to nearly jump from her chest and her body tingled from the rush of fear.

Hadrick stared at her, crumpled and naked by the washbasin. "Get up," he ordered flatly, "You have work."

Elphaba met his eyes, her pain too great and her emotion too raw to respond. What sort of sin had she committed that she didn't even deserve the mercy of a blanket to cover her nakedness? The previous night she had learned there existed levels of atrocity of which she had not known. That any person, Animal or human, could inflict them on another person brought fresh vomit to her throat. And now, adding insult to injury, he didn't even have the soul to give her a moment's privacy. He simply stared at her, a shivering, sticky, bloody mess of used human garbage.

_I am his trash, no better than used rags one throws in the corner between floor cleanings. _

She could only hope he would simply throw her out. Instead he ordered, "Cover yourself. A person doesn't sleep naked on the floor. If you want to sleep like a dog, I'll put you outside with the dogs," Hadrick chuckled to himself at the idea as he thumped down the stairs.

Elphaba crawled to the corner and retrieved her dress. It was hopelessly wadded and wrinkled, but it didn't seem to matter. She pulled it over her head and placed a hand on the windowsill. With great effort, she pulled herself to her feet. She stood for a moment, testing her strength. Her legs seemed stable enough, though she no longer had any undergarments to shield her body from the breeze and the brush of her rough dress against her thighs. She ran a brush randomly through her hair, pulling at the snarls and tangles futilely. She finally just tied it in a knot behind her head, figuring perhaps she'd cut it off later. She now felt genderless, asexual even. Her hair might as well match.

She clumped down the stairs, dressed, but somehow still feeling exposed. It seemed as though all of Oz could see straight through to her very core. Surely she wore her shame like a banner, its details written in her countenance. _Used. Dirty. Whore. _They seemed branded across her like so many scarlet letters.

"You may eat," Hadrick was addressing her, "You need the fat. It'll make you more appealing to the males of your kind." He clumped a bowl of warm grains in front of her.

She sat and spooned food into her mouth, unable to think of a reason to protest. She was numb.

Hadrick left early, mumbling something about numbers, but not before hammering out her list of chores. Still, she sat at the table for a long time, surrounded by dirty dishes, unable to summon the will to clean them.

_I could just sit here_, She pondered, _I could do nothing. I would become useless. A useless lump of wasted flesh, and he would have no need for me._

Where would she go? The thought surfaced. What better prospects did she have? To leave here meant to face the streets, to be left alone to brave the pelting rain that threatened to burn her beyond survival. What greater kindness did she expect to find in this city? What sort of person would take in the green girl? She had seen their stares, the way they hid their children from her. She had been spat on. What better treatment could she hope for?

It was as if something had died within her. The part of her that had left Glinda behind in a blaze of conviction seemed to grow smaller and smaller, like a mocking shadow of her current self. She had trusted in the goodness of Animals, in some part of mankind. She had seen herself riding a wave of protest, a great force of good-hearted people who took in the poor, the lost, and the hungry. She had been sheltered and spoiled by the charmed circle. Her colorful menagerie of friends had given her a false sense of moral conviction, and its ability to bring people together. The beautiful Glinda, the munchkin Boq, the dark, Winkie prince Fiyero, Crope and Tibbett, who always walked left of center, and Dr. Dillamond, the Animal they worked for. They had all been so beautifully different, yet so bonded in their purpose and desire to both change and understand the world. Elphaba had somehow believed that the Emerald City held that type of promise.

Yet day by day, month by month she was learning that the levels of prejudice and segregation went far deeper than she ever imagined. More and more she was surprised that any of the charmed circle had managed to see beyond her greenness at all. It seemed the rest of Oz could not.

And so she sat, staring at dirty dishes in the only place in the great Emerald City where she could find shelter from the rain.

She finally rose and cleared the dishes. Methodically she washed and scrubbed until all was clean. And then she stood, staring, her world now seeming to move in slow motion.

_What was I rushing so hard for?_ She asked herself, _What was I frantically running for?_

_Frederick. St. Aelphaba's. _The words came rushing to her, slamming into her thoughts.

_What was it? 3pm? The vial!_

Elphaba flew into a flurry of motion, if only driven by distraction. She had to make it on time, lest she risk losing her one remaining purpose in this world. She worked hard, her muscles sometimes cramping from injury and now hard labor. By 1pm she was on her way.

She hustled down the streets, certainly appearing to passerby as quite uncivilized. She did not make eye contact. She did not smile. Somehow they all seemed more threatening today, as if they could see through her clothes, see through to her soul, if it existed. In each creature's face, whether human or Animal, she saw the potential for violence and prejudice. She was jaded, both literally and mentally. Good was the exception. Good was a sprig of green in a rocky field, struggling to push its was through the dusty, barren, unforgiving land.

_I'll deliver the vial. I'll continue the Resistance,_ She told herself. It seemed such a small effort, such a drop in the bucket. Yet it was that, or give herself over to pure wickedness, to wallow in the stench of evil that surrounded her.

So she pressed on, walking faster, her breathing fast and hard. When she reached the dumpster she'd passed yesterday, she found she'd have to climb inside to find the vial. Her body cried out as she hoisted herself into the stinking filth, but she pressed on. She found the vial buried deep in the refuse, covered in some sort of molding gravy. She cleaned it as best she could with a discarded napkin and set off for the post office. As the clock tower chimed three o'clock, she placed the vial in box 489.

And then she stood there, the job done. She felt no different, no more 'good' than she had before. Yet, she had stopped spinning, stopped falling. She had reached some sort of numb plateau. She was empty, yet static. For today, it was enough.

**************************************************

Each day, there was a little less pain. She simply grew number, like a wound that covers itself with skin that can no longer feel. Every day was the same. Sleep. Eat. Work. Run. The rhythm of it kept her going.

"You are not a person," Hadrick stated each time a man came with cash, eager for his chance with the green whore.

And Elphaba had accepted it. The words no longer ignited rage, they were a simple fact. She had been stripped of personhood. She no longer hoped or felt anything, she simply did. She existed to be used, whether it was for the Resistance during the day, or for her body by night.

She had learned to shut the men out. She would squeeze her eyes shut and will herself to another place, usually a lush, green place. She would be free there, alone and free. The ravaging of her body would fade as she imaged wrapping herself in the lush green of nature, taking comfort in its silence.

The men usually departed quickly, which was merciful. She had taken to rubbing herself with oils to remove the scent of them. She had to steal them from the merchant who set up a rickety table at the corner, but it was worth the risk. She found they calmed her nerves, gave her a measure of sleep. One even seemed to take the sting out of the still-fresh scars between her legs. It was a luxury she'd never thought to try before, yet now she realized their value to a person who cannot bathe.

After a thorough rubbing, she'd climb out her sagging window and sit on the roof tiles, staring at the moon. Elphaba had taken to singing, something she thought she'd left behind with her days at Shiz. Yet it was cathartic. It was as if she was casting all the pain, the anger, and the filth out into the starry sky to be swallowed up by the faceless moon.

They were often wordless songs, but her voice was hypnotic, rising and falling like the sea, or lovers in the throws of passion. Surely the very Unamed God himself would pause as her lilting soprano carried upward and out into the heavens. Surely, if he existed, he held something better for this strange green woman he had created.

Yet only silence answered her song.

"But I am not a person," She told the night, "and God has no need for soulless things."

She crawled back into the window to struggle for sleep, for soon she'd face another day. There was always another day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Day two hundred thirty-two. Elphaba carefully carved a notch into the wall just under her windowsill. If asked, she couldn't quite explain the significance of the habit. Yet every day since Pierory she had carved a notch in the wall. Like a pathetic monument, not worthy of its subject, the marks seemed somehow symbolic. It was a small testimony of sorts, for even after all Pierory had stolen, she could not be kept down. For two hundred and thirty-two days she had gotten up again. She had faced another day. Sometimes, the promise of another notch was all she had pulling her out of bed, but sometimes that was all she needed. She had removed the emotion from it, reduced it to math. Survive. More notches. Do another task for the Resistance. More notches. Deliver a vile, mail a letter. More notches. Each one was not necessarily important on its own, but as a collection they made a statement.

Except for day two hundred thirty-two.

Elphaba rose quickly this morning. She had a rather complicated assignment, and she would be working hard today. She pinned her hair back tightly, fastidiously straightened her clothes and hurried down the stairs. There had been no male visitor last night, which had afforded her a little more sleep. She found herself grateful, though to whom she wasn't sure.

"I see having a night off helps you work faster in the mornings," Hadrick mused, half smirking as she poured his usual cup of black coffee. "Although, I suppose all the extra cash you're bringing to the household compensates from a little morning laziness."

"It's interesting that someone who never prepared his own breakfast should refer to anyone as lazy," Elphaba spat. She couldn't stop herself. Her tongue let loose on its own sometimes, reaping heaps of trouble upon her head. But sometimes there was no holding it back.

Hadrick met her eyes, his glare cold and unflinching. She stared back, her dark eyes strong despite his efforts to break her.

"I suppose the one thing I will never tame is your tongue, Miss Fae," He drawled, "but it's an acceptable flaw," He continued, "as the young men do seem to be drawn to your feistiness."

"I believe only animals can be tamed," Her meaning was not lost on Hadrick.

He approached her, holding her eyes with his. He wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her close to him, so close she could feel his hot breath on her face. "Put up a good fight tonight," He whispered, his coarse fur brushing her cheek, "The men pay extra when you give them a good fight."

As the door shut behind him, Elphaba seized a statue, some archaic Unionist thing, and hurled it at the door. It shattered easily, sending shards exploding out across the room like stardust after the birth of a sun. Yet it was a hollow rebuttal. Somehow, he always found the upper hand. Hadrick had a talent, if torture is a talent, for turning her rebellion against her. She could not even have the satisfaction of a good rebellion, of making things more difficult, because making things more difficult only made her a better whore.

**************************************************

She stood there for a few clock ticks, feeling like a deflated balloon. Then, with a heaving sigh, she retrieved her broom and began to clean up the shattered statue. After a thorough sweeping, it was on to the laundry and the kitchen floors. As she scrubbed today, she kept an eye on the clock. She could not be late.

_Sweet Oz,_ She thought as she gave the floor a final drying, _You could eat off these floors the way he has me constantly scrubbing. _A part of her thought of doing it, just to make the point. She could see Hadrick striding through the door to find her slurping stew off a newly polished kitchen floor. The thought of it almost made her smile. Almost.

Her momentary daydream was shattered by the clanging of the clock. She stowed her cleaning supplies and hurried soundlessly out the back door. Today was critical. Today she could not be late, could not be distracted. She stood in the alley behind Hadrick's home for a few moments, carefully studying a worn piece of paper. It had been tucked in the door jam of the pub a few blocks over yesterday, just as her instructions had stated. It was a map, and she committed it to memory. She could not risk opening it once she left this spot. She carefully slipped a vile from an empty flowerpot outside the door and tucked it into her pocket. She then set off.

Elphaba wrapped her rail-thin arms around herself as she scurried down one street and then another. The wind was biting this afternoon, finding its way through every rip and tear in her clothes. She was sure she looked out of place without a winter coat or cape, like someone seeking punishment from the cold, but a coat was a luxury she could not afford.

By now, she'd entered a part of the city she had not before encountered. She had most certainly left the seventh ward behind, as there were no Animals to be seen. Here and there she spotted the propaganda posters the Wizard had ordered be displayed in all storefronts.

_Animals should be seen and not heard_.

The words made Elphaba's blood boil, but she could not stop to rip them down today. Today was about something greater.

As she rounded another corner, she found herself on a narrow street lined with vendors hawking cheap and overpriced merchandise of questionable origins. She brushed past them without a cursory glance, her hawk-like eyes darting back and forth until she caught site of her target.

She stopped in front of a small storefront. It was rather unassuming in its appearance. The door was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint and didn't quite close all the way. The window was plastered from the inside with papers. Everything from front pages of newspapers to small posters adorned the glass. At first, it all seemed harmless enough, but upon closer examination, they were all anti-Animal propaganda. The window told a piece-meal story of the unfolding tragedy befalling the Animals. From the first restrictions on jobs, to the current herding of all Animals into the seventh ward, the window was an advertisement in atrocity.

_We're just a few pages shy of full-scale extermination, _Elphaba thought with a shudder. She grit her teeth together, her determination surging.

_I hate you! _She mentally spat towards the storefront and its owners. It was the one emotion she seemed to have left, the one thing she could truly feel. Hatred. Unadulterated hatred towards these oppressors and all they stood for.

She scanned the street. The vendors were engrossed in potential customers. There were no other passersby. Elphaba slipped inside, using great caution not to let the door squeak its disapproval as she closed it behind her. The small front room was empty, as was expected. Just as she had been told, the sound of printing presses hammering away could be heard from the back rooms. The employees were hard at work, churning out the next installment of the Wizard's deprecating word vomit.

She moved quickly, whipping the vile from her pocket. It seemed in most ways like a very ordinary medicine vile, but this one had two chambers, separated by a thin piece of glass. With nimble fingers, she pulled the dividing glass out as far as was possible and shook the vile to mix the chemicals. With her natural hunger for knowledge, Elphaba would love to have explored the reaction that was going on in the vile, but today it was not her job to understand. She was simply to do. She gently laid the vile amidst a large pile of back issues of the Wizard's newspaper. She dropped the map in the pile and then slithered soundlessly out the door.

She was just slipping around the corner when she heard a small crackle, like gunfire. It could easily have been mistaken for military action against an unruly Animal, which often occurred in these parts of the city. She did not look back. Not even once. To look back was to implicate oneself. By the time she met Frederick in the market a few blocks from Hadrick's walkup, she could already see a plum of dark smoke rising into the afternoon sky.

"You did it," Was Frederick's greeting.

"Did you doubt me?" Elphaba asked, slightly taken aback.

"I was only kidding. Have you never kidded anyone?"

"I think it might be outside my nature," She replied, her tone hollow.

Frederick studied her for a moment. They knew very little of each other, but he seemed hurt just the same. "I thought we'd become friends…" He started.

For a moment her thoughts wandered back to Shiz. The charmed circle. Glinda. It had been another lifetime, when trust came more easily.

"I have no friends," Her retort was quick and final. "I burned the map as instructed. I'll meet you here in three days for more instructions."

Frederick looked slightly wounded as she stormed away from him. In another time, when things were more black and white, she might have given him a chance. In a time before Pierory. Before men had all become shades of gray in their moral ambiguity. The endless parade of men who paid to spend a little time between her legs had taught her that no one was exempt from sin. Drunk, stinking bums and high profile bankers were all the same with their pants around their ankles. Frederick, by fault of his gender, was all the same to her.

She hustled back to the walkup, realizing she was barely making it back before Hadrick's usual evening return. She closed the back door soundlessly behind her and leaned against it for a moment. The door was cool against her forehead and seemed to calm her, to slow her pounding heart. Elphaba realized her veins were pulsing with pure adrenaline at what she'd accomplished. She knew her fire would burn hot and spread quickly. It would easily engulf half the block before any fire squadron could extinguish it.

_I have done something this time, something of significance_. She felt just a little pride rise up in her.

She had burned it to the ground. The main printing presses for the Wizard's propaganda. She was a jam in his well-oiled machine of persecution. A silent, nameless jam, but a jam all the same. It almost made the loss of so many other things worth it. Almost.

**************************************************

She worked quickly preparing dinner, taking a little extra time in simmering the vegetables tonight. Working quickly was as close as Elphaba ever came to enthusiasm. Happiness was an emotion outside her realm. Yet tonight she was at least eager, urged on by a successful mission and the promise of more. The idea of leaving Hadrick behind was a notion she did not allow herself to consider, lest some measure of hope begin to rise up in her. Hope was dangerous. Hope was easily dashed. Tonight she allowed herself simply to feel eager.

Hadrick came thumping in shortly thereafter, grumbling to himself and seeming to be in an overly foul mood. Elphaba stood rigidly by the stove, awaiting her lashing for breaking the vase this morning. Yet he didn't seem to notice.

"Take your food upstairs," He barked at her after slumping into his chair, "I am in no mood to listen to your tongue tonight. Since you find so much time to think of hateful commentary, I've arranged to occupy your time this evening."

It was clear she had been dismissed.

Elphaba took her portion in a bowl and climbed the stairs wearily, her body crying out against the long treks around the city. Yet as she ate, her mind was still filled with ideas. She would use these thoughts to get her through another night, with another man. It was always easier when she could occupy her mind, and tonight she was determined not to let her eagerness for her cause be dampened.

She had finished her meager dinner and was lost in thought by the window when she heard slumping footsteps approaching her room. She felt herself harden inside, like a shield being raised to protect what was left of her. The footsteps no longer invoked fear, just hardness, a cold, pervasive hardness that was growing more and more difficult to remove. Yet when the door swung open, her throat constricted and she thought she'd lost the ability to breathe. It had been two hundred and thirty-two days, and yet here he stood, again.

"You are not welcome here!" She spat, like venom from a striking snake.

"I am a paying customer," Pierory sneered, his face contorting into an even uglier version of itself.

"Get out!" She demanded, feeling anger welling up inside of her. The sight of him had caused something to snap. Like the mixing of two toxic chemicals earlier in the day, a reaction had been started. All the others she had soundlessly endured, willing herself to some other place. They had become nameless, faceless visitors to her cold and unresponsive body, but Pierory had made her a whore. With an indifferent callousness he had ripped away her dignity and dashed hopes she couldn't even name.

And now, as he seized her by the arms, rage filled her entire being. She remembered the broom. She allowed the emotion to pour from her, to overtake her and leap from her to possess the broom. She had not felt this power since he had last visited, and yet the familiarity of it allowed her a measure of control. The broom leapt from its place in the corner and flew to strike Pierory squarely across the face. His nose swelled instantly and began to bleed in rivulets over his lips.

He screamed obscenities and clutched the end of his ragged sleeve over his face. Elphaba cowered, panting, like a cat ready to pounce.

"You bloody whore!" Pierory screamed through his sleeve, "That's how I remember you, bloody and screwed!" As he stemmed the flow of blood, he started toward her again, his hands working his belt buckle.

Elphaba stood, felt the swell of anger again, and sent a book flying in his direction. He ducked, barely.

"What are you?!" He roared, "Some freak of nature? Did nature intend you to be a vegetable and make some horrid mistake?! Or are you more Animal than human?" He stared at her, studying her as he sniffled through his bloody nose.

Elphaba suddenly felt herself weaken, as if her two great acts of sorcery had drained her very core. She met Pierory's stare, disgust in her eyes.

"Perhaps you are an Animal," He continued, "magicked into an almost-human form by whatever powers of sorcery you possess." To him, it seemed to be a revelation. "And do you know what we do to Animals who won't be tamed?"

She stared, unblinking, at him.

"We dispose of them," He hissed, seizing her by the arm.

Suddenly, Elphaba saw something new in him. For all his unkempt grunginess, she saw more than a lazy drunkard who paid for sex. She saw the potential for true hatred, for malice and violence. She realized his marking her was only a spring from an undercurrent that ran deep. Pierory had killed Animals, somehow she knew it. He was more than she realized.

Swiftly, he whipped her arms behind her back and pinned her against the unforgiving stone wall. "I'll get what I came for," He whispered gruffly into her hair, "and be rid of you this time."

He released her and seized the wooden bar used for securing the door. He struck her squarely across the back, knocking the breath from her chest and sending her sprawling across the floor. The pain was dizzying, and she lay unable to move. She dug her fingernails into the floor, desperately willing her body to move, but it was to no avail. Pierory slapped her, undid his trousers and raped her, enjoying her pain in his perverse and twisted soul.

Elphaba struggled to clear her head, willing herself not to faint, wanting some measure of control. If she could just find the rage again, if she could move him the way she'd moved her broom…

But then he was done.

He spat on her. That was the last thing she remembered before he swung the heavy washbasin towards her head and all went black.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Elphaba wasn't sure if she was falling or rising. She felt light, yet foggy, like she was floating in a thick, heaviness that rocked her and protected her. Perhaps she was not yet born. Maybe all the pain and trouble that lurked at the edge of her consciousness had been a dream. She could start anew. She would emerge from someone else's womb, rose-colored and crying like any other infant. Grateful parents would smack her, and then caress her as she let forth a wail. They would embrace her in her normal-colored perfection, without any question as to her origin.

Perhaps she smiled as she floated in her dream. Perhaps a nurse noted it on a chart and wondered what would make someone in such suffering smile so genuinely.

Yet, for Elphaba, very little of what she dreamed tended to come true. Her warm, comforting cocoon brightened, became harsher until the light began to hurt.

_If this is the Unnamed God_, She protested_, I don't want to go into this light. Sweet Oz, even the metaphorical light is painful! _Her thoughts ran like this, distorted and somewhat crazed.

There seemed to be shadows that occasionally moved, sometimes speaking in an unintelligible garble. She felt a great, foreboding sense of being out of control, yet on this journey she was not driving. Her body heaved and swirled through levels of consciousness of its own accord. Time stood still. It felt like three minutes. It felt like three years. And then she surfaced.

Like the sting of cool rain on her intolerant skin, reality washed over her. Her eyes still tightly closed, Elphaba came to herself. She sensed a bed, a small room. She could hear muffled voices somewhere, yet their words were lost. She sensed darkness, stillness, safety. It was a new feeling. She decided not to open her eyes, lest she ruin it. She allowed herself to drift into sleep, not the same chasm from which she had emerged, but true sleep. Voluntary sleep. Healing. Sleep.

**************************************************

As she had so often endured, morning came. The voices were louder, yet no more distinguished. This time, she opened her eyes.

_Hospital, _Was Elphaba's first thought.

Her eyes raked over the sparse, yet clean room. She lay on a small bed, unadorned, but mercifully clean and soft. The walls were stone, whitewashed and scrubbed clean. There was an oil lamp, unlit, on a small, square table by her bed. She recognized her dress, hanging over the one simple high-backed chair. Her boots sat side by side below the chair, looking wilted and tired. A silver cart of various medical paraphernalia sat in the corner.

She tried to grasp the day, the month, the year? The fog seemed to have moved inside her head, wrapping information in slippery wisps of which she could not take hold.

She sensed she could not move, perhaps because of paralysis, or some sort of brace? The pain began to ebb and flow, as though it moved with her blood through her veins. It found its center in her head. Her body throbbed, ached and stung, a three-way assault. Elphaba considered calling out, if she still had a voice, when the door burst open.

A nurse, or sharply dressed maunt, breezed in, clearly not expecting to find anyone awake. She stopped abruptly as her eyes met Elphaba's.

"In the name of the Unnamed God!" She squeaked, flapping her hands around. The irony of her statement was lost as she stumbled out the door, squawking for someone obviously more equipped than she.

_I must look like hell, _Was all Elphaba could think. _Although I suppose that would be a change…_

She didn't have time to finish the thought. A smartly dressed man who was either a doctor or a salesman burst through the door, followed by the flapping nurse and a Unionist priest.

_It's like the start of a bad joke, _She mused, finding her thoughts to be quite creative when she was out of her mind.

The man approached, producing a stethoscope and a small lamp. That answered the question as to his profession. He placed the stethoscope on her chest, and she flinched at the cold. She became very aware that she was nude beneath her thin gown. As he shone the light into her eyes, memories tumbled upon her, overwhelming her.

_Naked. Pain. Rage. Shame. Pierory_.

As the doctor reached to touch her, she seized his wrist. It was the most movement she could manage.

"Do not touch me," She hissed.

He met her eyes, not unkindly. He seemed to be searching her, looking into her soul. He seemed to understand. He backed away and sat in the chair. He shooed the other two out of the room to gossip elsewhere.

"I have to admit, we didn't expect you to survive," He explained, "and we do not know your name. We've sent word to no one, as no one seems to know you. If you'll tell us your name, we'll see that your family receives word. They can thank the Unnamed God that you're alive."

"What's wrong with me?" Was her reply. She would not release her name. She wouldn't give this stranger even that small piece of herself. It would only create a tie she did not want. And what family did she have that would care?

Sensing he would not get her name, the doctor leveled his eyes on her. "Your back is braced, fractured in three places, yet it will heal. Your spleen is destroyed, nearly bled you out. But your head was the worry. We still know very little of head injuries, but there was much bleeding, a possible fracture. We tried a new technique, letting the blood out. I suppose it has worked." His explanation was frank, to the point. He seemed to sense she was not one to have things sugar-coated.

Elphaba appreciated his honesty. He seemed to have genuine skill, to be very well trained. His medical knowledge seemed sound, unlike the crazy, Lurlinist healers who peddled potions and tonics made from things that would make your stomach turn. Dr. Dillamond, with all his love of life and science, would have been proud.

"You should rest," The doctor rose to leave as he spoke, "Your story can wait until later. You must not move. Ring the bell for help. Too much movement at this point could be life threatening," He paused for a moment, "But maybe I shouldn't have told you that…"

Their eyes met, and she understood his meaning. He seemed to understand that her pain went beyond what he could treat.

**************************************************

If, at some distant point in her tumultuous future, someone were to ask her if, in this moment, she had made the right choice, it would be hard to say. Elphaba only knew, as she lay awake while the moon made its way across the sky, that she had seen something in the doctor that made life seem a clock tick better than death. Did she like him? It was hard to say. He was still a man, a nameless man. The Unnamed Doctor. Yet he'd done more good for her than the Unnamed God had ever managed. For she imagined that some time ago, whether it had been weeks or months, when she had arrived here, he had had a choice. He could have shuddered at her freakish, scarred, other-worldly green skin and cast her out onto the street to die the death of those not worth saving. He could have had her mercifully euthanized, ridding the world of the anomaly that was Elphaba Thropp. It was not unheard of in these times for the unfortunate, the unnecessary, to be mercifully killed. Yet for some reason, he felt this green girl had a place among the living. She was worth his time, his patience, and his great skill. He had chosen to give her life.

Elphaba stared at the faceless moon, imagining in it the faces of those she'd left behind in her life.

_Father. _

The word struck a chord in her. She wasn't the sentimental type, but it felt as if the pieces of her feelings suddenly fit together and she could see the picture. Frex had seen her as a newborn, squalling and fragile and not having asked to be green, and seem to determine she did not deserve life. He might have smothered her, had he been a more hateful soul, with less religion coursing through him. Instead, she became his burden, his cross to bear for the sins he saw in himself. She was not a life, but a punishment.

The Unnamed Doctor did not see her that way. She did not have the emotional capacity left to understand, nor the trust to completely accept it, but he saw her. Somehow, she knew it. He saw her as a life worth having. He saw a person. And he had asked for nothing in return.

She fell into a restless sleep, hoping upon hope that she was not wrong. That he hadn't some secret agenda. She supposed she would know soon enough.

Tomorrow would come. But for Elphaba, she had chosen its coming.

**************************************************

The Unnamed Doctor was there when she opened her eyes, making notes and examining several glass bottles on the silver tray. If he was surprised to find her alive, he made no mention.

"Are you in pain?" He asked.

"Yes," She whispered, finding that the ache in her head was more pronounced this morning, as if all the thinking had aggravated her injury.

"I need to inject this into your thigh," He seemed to be asking her permission, his syringe readied.

She stared at it for a moment, and then met his gaze. He gave no indication of moving. Elphaba lifted the blanket every so carefully, giving him barely inch of green skin to work with. The injection was quick, and he backed away swiftly, turning to clean the instruments.

_He knows, _She thought, and the realization made her stomach churn. The idea that he knew how she'd been used, ravaged and spat upon made her shudder. He knew she was a whore. The thought sickened her, because she had sworn, if she ever left Hadrick, that she would take the knowledge of what Peirory and the others had done to her grave. She felt a deep, abiding sense of shame, yet gratefulness nudged in beside the shame.

Even now, he looked into her eyes, and one did not look a whore in the eyes. "You have a visitor," He explained, "He's been here since dawn. Someone named Frederick. Should he know you are awake?"

Elphaba started to say no, but the doctor continued.

"He was there when they found you and brought you in. If not for that, he wouldn't have been allowed into the hospital at all."

She nodded, against her own will. She was human, after all. Her desire for human contact took over, like an instinct. Whatever soul she had was trying to save itself, no matter how hard her mind protested. Besides, Frederick knew how she got here.

So he was escorted to her room.

**************************************************

Frederick entered slowly, looking as though he were afraid to breathe. Elphaba had never noticed before how short he was. His stature was almost boy-like, as though he might have munchkin running through his veins. Yet his eyes were as keen as ever, darting about the room to take in every detail.

_That must have been his ticket into the the Resistance, _She realized, _those steel-blue eyes that don't miss a flick. _She smirked a little to herself, for never before had she considered anything about Frederick. He served a purpose, which was all that had mattered. Then again, never before had she been immobilized in a bed, with nothing but her thoughts.

He pushed a clump of dirty brown hair from his eyes before he spoke, "I wasn't sure if I should come…"

"You must have had a reason. We're not exactly bound together by much," Her tone was cool.

A familiar, wounded look crossed Frederick's face. "I thought it was the right thing to do," He whispered.

"It's so good to know I'm in the presence of someone with such a large moral compass." The air was thick and stagnant with her sarcasm.

Neither spoke for a long moment. Frederick perched himself carefully on the edge of the chair, studying her. "Do you remember how we met?" He finally spoke.

Elphaba, who couldn't very well get up and storm out, was forced to recall. "Under the bridge…" She started.

"You shrieked like a mad woman over that Cat. I thought you'd take on the whole band of Animal Rehabilitation Agents yourself…" Frederick mused, "I knew you would be perfect. I knew you'd be better than me. But the the Resistance isn't about pride, it's about getting something done."

Elphaba did not disagree, but, not being one for much reminiscing, she yearned for him to find his point.

"I thought you'd died, you know," He almost sounded accusatory, as though she'd done him some great wrong.

"So?" She managed to raise one eyebrow in her characteristic way of questioning the world.

"The the Resistance would never have been the same…" Frederick shifted his gaze to the floor, afraid to compliment her to her face.

"How long have I been here?" She demanded, refusing to accept graciousness, even from someone as harmless as Frederick.

He met her eyes again, as if he were gauging her reaction. "Six weeks," He finally answered.

Elphaba swallowed hard over the questions lurking in her throat.

Frederick, for all his little annoyances, seemed to understand. He answered the questions she couldn't voice.

"I was at the pub down the street, where we exchange information," He began, "There was a commotion, people hollering that the ARA was at it again. Saying they'd arrested a Bison for having a servant in direct violation with the Code of Order."

_Hadrick. _

Her mind registered what Frederick was saying, but it was the ultimate conflict of interest. Her great oppressor now oppressed at the hands of those she had worked so hard to stop. It was victory and defeat at once.

"The ARA brought him out in chains," Frederick continued, "with this one fellow urging him along with a large stick, beating him across the back. He was an obnoxious fellow, fairly unkempt and badly in need of a shave. Yet he seemed to be in charge. Sir Pierory, someone kept saying."

Elphaba inhaled sharply, making her back throb. Still, she did not speak. Acknowledging his actions would make them real. She'd let him walk free rather than give voice to his cruelty.

"I started to defend the Animal. After all, he could easily have snapped this man's stick like a twig. He was enormous and obviously powerful, a beautiful Bison. I had just worked up the courage when they carried you out, mostly covered as though you were…" Frederick paused, obviously cringing at the memory. "But I could see your hand, just barely, and it was green. And who else in all of Oz is green?"

"As I have so often been reminded," Elphaba spoke, "no one."

"So I stopped and watched, not believing that you would ever willingly be anyone's servant," Frederick seemed in great turmoil over his story, as though he himself had not quite untangled all its truths just yet. "This Pierory caused a great disturbance, stirring up the crowd with his ranting of how this Bison had kept a female servant, and then in his 'mad Animal aggression', as they say, had killed you for refusing to obey him. By the time he was done, he had the whole mass of them throwing stones at the Bison and shouting that he should be hung for his lawlessness and cruelty." Frederick looked at his hands for a moment.

"They took the Animal away, with Pierory and his whole mob following along. I stayed to watch them take you here. That doctor asked if I was next of kin, or any relation, and of course I told him nothing. He only promised he'd let me know if you ever awoke," Frederick hesitated, as though he was working through many unanswered questions. "Which it seems you have…."

"You owe me nothing you know," Elphaba answered flatly, "You have no reason to care for me or my outcome."

Frederick looked at her sharply. "We are soldiers in the same army. Soldiers do not leave the wounded behind."

"It is an invisible army, and you know very well that you or I would easily be sacrificed to save the integrity of the whole. You owe me no more allegiance than that." She turned from him, tired and frustrated that he tried so hard to like her, to befriend her.

"Enough with the metaphors, Fae. Here you lie, unable even to move, and you cannot accept even a little friendship. I took a risk for you, to connect you to the the Resistance. Have I not earned just the slightest kindness?" He stared at her, his expression hard.

_This inner strength, this determination, is what makes him useful_, She realized. Still, she could not accept his kindness. The shield was too thick, wrapped too tightly around her heart in protective layers of hardness. She could not remove it. She simply stared at him, waiting.

Frederick stood, crossed to the door and met her gaze again. There was a hardness to him now, as well. Perhaps it was catching.

"I don't know that I'll be back," He tossed his words out, perhaps to see how they would land in the vast and unknowable landscape that was Elphaba Thropp.

She did not respond.

"You should know," He acquiesced, "they want you to testify. One of the ARA was here, interrogating that doctor. They want to hang the Bison, and they need your testimony. They want to make you a martyr for the cause of suppressing Animals, to use you as a poster child to prove that eradicating Animals is both justified and necessary. Perhaps that will make you feel something."

Frederick left her alone, shutting the door behind himself without another word.

The clock ticked. The sun moved through the sky. The world shifted and fragmented into an unending spectrum of shades of gray. To punish her oppressor was to stand with those who made her blood run cold with hate. For all her passion for justice, there was no clear justice here. Elphaba shut her eyes and willed her body well, willed her limbs to work and her head to clear. Healing was her only outlet. Healing meant that she could run, and running was what she knew.

_Run from the family that resents you. Run from the school that only wants to use you. Run from those who try to stop you in your cause. And now, run from those who wish to make you a martyr for a cause that makes you vomit. Run from those who'd force you into the public eye, a place you cannot abide. _

_Run, _She willed her body, _Run…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

For all her wishing, willing and wanting, her body refused to cooperate. The days seemed to drag by, pulling themselves unwillingly into weeks. To Elphaba, the room seemed to get smaller, and whiter, if that was possible. The nurses came and went, their prying eyes nearly bursting with curiosity as they brought in trays of food or medicine. None of them spoke. They seemed to look upon her as one would view a zoo exhibit. They stared, yet they dared not speak. Perhaps they thought her incapable of responding. Elphaba didn't dare to guess at the rumors that must be circulating. Yet amidst all that was driving her mad, there was one anomaly.

Dr. Weilhemm.

It was a strange, Gilikinese name that was unfamiliar to her. Yet his presence felt like a calm in the nastiest of storms. On days wrought with anxiety over nosy visitors and suffocating walls, his entrance into her room seemed to calm the very atmosphere. She breathed more slowly. She hurt less.

Elphaba couldn't say exactly why. There were too many emotions flowing and twisting just below her surface to allow her even a little exploration. She would not ask if this was trust, or kindness. She did not allow herself either one. But she did remember when it began.

A particularly drab afternoon, perhaps three days after Frederick's heated exit, Dr. Weilhemm had entered silently. He looked her over carefully, and then left. He returned a moment later with a printed calendar, large and most likely expensive. It was well put together, on good stock off an upscale press. He hung it carefully on the wall, removed a fresh pen from his pocket and marked off days until he reached the eighteenth. March the eighteenth. He left without a word.

Each day thereafter he had marked off a day, without fail and without comment. It was no great gesture really, no lasting bond between two people. What struck her was that somehow he knew she needed a concept of time. As little interaction as they'd had, with her having spent most of it in a coma, he knew. To lay there for days on end with no concept of time would have driven her mad, and it seemed to matter to him that she not go mad. It was a gesture of respect, something that now seemed so foreign that responding to it was like speaking a different tongue.

It was on her mind when he entered that morning. As usual, he made his mark, making today April first. Then Dr. Weilhemm spoke.

"I think you should try to sit up today," He let the words sink in, watching her calmly.

"I would very much like that," Elphaba stated, keeping her anticipation in check.

"I need you to know, this will hurt," He didn't mince words, "but healing is painful sometimes. Yet it is healing, none the less."

She stared at him for a moment, wondering where he found his words. Every so often in a straightforward, unemotional sort of way, he spoke to her very soul. In spite of herself, it calmed her. She met his eyes and simply nodded.

The doctor left the room and returned with a quiet young nurse, who also seemed to be a first-year maunt. Perhaps out of youth, or something in her religion, she was less curious. She took in Elphaba without much surprise, and waited for instruction.

Dr. Weilhemm crossed to the bedside, and instructed the young maunt to sit on the bed. She took one of Elphaba's hands in each of hers. The doctor carefully positioned his hands behind her back.

Elphaba's heart pounded. So much human contact was unusual and unnerving. She was so at their mercy, so vulnerable. Yet it was the only choice she had, surrender to their assistance or become a cripple. And then, in his strange way of knowing, the doctor spoke calmly, "Take a deep breath. Take your time. We're on your time. When you're ready, try to pull yourself up."

It was all she needed. Her future in her own hands, literally. She clasped the maunt's hands tightly and pulled, her thin arms shaking from the effort. The doctor lifted at the same time. He shifted and rearranged the bedding so that within a moment, when she could no longer hold herself, she found herself reclining upright.

The pain was intense, shooting up and down her spine, seeming to radiate down her legs. Yet she was sitting. Elphaba closed her eyes for a moment and allowed the pain at least to settle, to become more dull and bearable.

"I want you to sit for as a long as you can. It's time for lunch, which you'll be able to eat on your own today. See if you can endure that long." The doctor instructed, "You are strong. This pain is healing." He met her eyes for a moment, and then left with the young maunt trailing behind.

**************************************************

Elphaba met this new challenge head on, as it seemed to fit her. It was a struggle. It was work. It was pain and it had to be met head on. It was as familiar to her as lying immobile had been alien. Each day, three times a day, she pulled herself up, growing stronger, clenching her teeth, hurting, yet hurting less. She was fed by the feeling of control, the knowledge that each step forward was hers to make. Each step a step towards freedom.

Not one for much introspection, she couldn't help but acknowledge that she was a creature wildly in need of freedom. Confinement withered her, beat her down and seemed to contradict her very makeup. Like a great phoenix, she could not be caged. She needed the wind in her face, the dewy scent of fresh morning air. In a slightly irrational way, she thought perhaps flight would have better suited her, if the Unnamed God had seen fit to have made her a Bird instead. Flight was the one daydream she allowed herself, as it got her through the pain. On the insides of eyelids squeezed tightly shut, she could see herself in crisp detail. The wind whipping through her long black hair, her face aglow with a rosy greenness only she could achieve. Defying the laws of nature, defying gravity itself, she imagined casting herself onto the wind, rolling and soaring with it. Flying. Free of the very world itself.

_I don't suppose flight is something I can hope to achieve_, She told herself wryly. Her protesting body reminded her she was altogether human. Green, but very human.

She was interrupted from her daydreams by the young maunt, still silent and methodic in her actions. She had come every day since the first time Elphaba had sat up, and she seemed to have replaced the nosy nurses with all their staring and mumbling. She offered her hands, and Elphaba silent took them and raised herself to sit. It was easier now.

"I am to remove the bandages today," Her voice was surprisingly clear. Her pointed finger indicated the swathes of fabric that covered Elphaba's head.

Elphaba simply nodded, and the girl began to work. Her fingers were nimble and kind, maneuvering the fabric gently. It took her several minutes to remove all of it. She collected it in a bowl, and then, without question, began to probe Elphaba's head. Startled at first, Elphaba found her touch soothing, and not unkind. The young maunt seemed to be searching, testing. After a few moments, she seemed satisfied.

Without seeking permission or explanation, she left and returned with a basin and a brush. The basin was filled with water.

Elphaba pulled away, snapping, "I cannot abide-"

"I know," Was all the girl would say. She worked the brush gently through the snarls of ebony hair. She took her time with each mat, each knot, until they brushed smooth. She then worked the water and soap through the strands, keeping the water away from Elphaba's scalp, she scrubbed and rinsed and toweled until the hair shone like an inky black river, running fresh and thick and new.

As the girl pulled her hair back over the bed to dry, Elphaba couldn't help asking, "Were you raised as a maunt?" Something about this girl sparked her curiosity.

"No," Was her simply stated answer. She was silent for a moment, then continued. "I was homeless, sold into prostitution by very poor parents. The mauntery saved me, quite literally. But you need not feel pity. I have peace."

Sweet Oz, the irony was so thick, so real it nearly slapped her in the face. Elphaba was momentarily shaken. Yet she was still Elphaba and she said nothing in return. She watched the girl more closely, with her squared shoulders, her purposeful hands, her steady eyes.

"Did Dr. Weilhemm ask for you, for me?" Elphaba asked directly.

"Yes."

The young girl was nearly out the door when Elphaba threw out one word, "Fae."

"Pardon?"

"Tell him my name is Fae," She explained, meeting the girl's eyes.

With a simple nod, she was gone.

If she had understood the significance of the gesture, she made no indication. Elphaba let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. A familiar burning feeling of panic began to well up in her at the wall she'd just let down, yet under the panic, there was something more.

_Hope_, She identified it.

_Hope is dangerous_, She told herself, _Hope is easily dashed_.

Yet hope was cathartic, and brought her a deep sleep that night.

**************************************************

Elphaba found it hard to admit, but hope was also healing. In the weeks that followed, her recovery hit its stride. The brace was removed, and she could sit on her own. The pain had become a dull ache, finding its center at the small of her back. Yet it was tolerable. Her head had healed nicely, a tribute to the knowledge of Dr. Weilhemm. Elphaba would occasionally finger the place on the back of her skull where the hair was growing back, the only physical reminder of the injury and its treatment. Still not able to voice her gratitude, she silently thanked the doctor for not taking all of her hair, and for making the wound invisible under her black tresses.

Eliana came daily to brush her hair, to bring food and help her move and grow stronger. Elphaba had finally asked her name, feeling she owed it to her not to know her simply as The Maunt. After what she had shared, so freely, it seemed right. They had an unspoken sisterhood, a bond that had no name. To a stranger, they seemed merely civil to each other. Yet it was there, a silent cord connecting them. Elphaba couldn't say that it was trust, because she wasn't sure she even trusted herself. It wasn't enough to draw out even a word of the atrocities inflicted upon her. It was simply a calm. A feeling of walking shoulder to shoulder with someone, not speaking, ready to part at any moment, yet together for a time.

Perhaps it was because of this that Elphaba was grateful Eliana was there this particular morning.

Eliana had managed to find a bottle of oil, lavender scented and of quite excellent quality. Elphaba was struggling with words of thanks when she heard a commotion in the hall. It sounded altogether like war might be breaking out. Wordlessly, they both seemed to expect to be ambushed by a foreign army where they sat. This, for Elphaba, was nearly the truth.

The door burst open and the room was flooded with men and women carrying cameras like neither girl had ever seen. Mostly were dressed smartly and made hurried notes with freshly-nibbed pens. They all seemed to speak at once, forming one giant, cacophonous voice that pelted Elphaba with questions and accusations. The scent of sulfur filled the room as flashbulbs snapped and were reloaded.

"Will you testify?"

"Were you kept as a slave?"

"Were you employed by the Bison?'

"Do you know he was in direct violation of the Code of Order?"

"You know that Animals are not permitted to have servants of any kind!"

"Do you wish to see justice served against this cruel, uncivilized Animal?"

"Animals should be seen and hot heard!"

"Do you agree that Animals are a sub-race that should be contained?"

"Do you believe the Bison should hang for his crimes?"

"Are you grateful to Sir Peirory, Assistant Head of the Animal Rehabilitation Agency, for delivering you from your confinement?"

At this last statement, Elphaba's trembling overcame her. She caught a glimpse of Dr. Weilhemm entering the room, out of breath, as she realized she was hyperventilating. Burning anxiety shot through her, overwhelmed her, and the world slowly went dark, the sea of faces swimming around her.

**************************************************

The darkness enveloped her, muffling the voices. Yet they swirled around her, like moving shadows on the other side of a screen. She felt strong, sturdy arms steady her, followed by the coolness of linens.

_Breathe,_ It was a vague command.

_Breathe_, She tried to follow it.

_Breathe_, She drew deep, slow breaths.

"Breathe," The words found a voice. Dr. Weilhemm's face came into focus above her. Eliana pressed a cool cloth to her forehead.

When Dr. Weilhemm saw that Elphaba's eyes had focused on him, that her breathing had slowed to a steady rate, he turned, just in time to catch a flashbulb square in the face.

"Enough!" It was the first time Elphaba had seen him show any emotion. He set his mouth in a thin line and pressed the camera away from his face. Not angrily, but with finality.

"That is quite enough! This young woman has been through quite enough! Her injuries are quite severe. This is not an argument over property or a discussion of the intricacies of law. This is a person's fate, in so many ways. You will leave this room now, lest each of you be tried for trespassing. Not one of you has permission to be here." With that he looked them up and down, not leaving room for argument or opinion.

They filed out slowly, the doctor's very presence driving them from the small room.

It wasn't until the last person had left and Dr. Weilhemm stood to leave that Elphaba realized she was clutching his hand. Her knuckles had nearly lost all their emerald color. She released it suddenly, her fingers tingling. Their eyes met, and once again, there was the understanding. He left her alone with Eliana, who continued to press the cool cloth against her forehead.

**************************************************

It was a great trick, Elphaba had to admit.

Throughout that afternoon, Eliana hung the cloth out the small window, catching the cool breeze that blew heartily several stories above the street. She then pressed it against Elphaba's head, calming her. By the time the sun set in a blaze of crimson and tangerine, her body felt calm. Yet her mind was reeling, racing like a wild, thundering stallion at the implications of the day. Her cover was blown. Her face plastered on every rag in the Emerald City. How could she deny her own identity? After all, she was green. This curse forced solitude upon her, and made her a spectacle who could not hide.

Elphaba finally waved Eliana away, daring to lift the corner of her mouth in an almost-smile. Still, the young maunt sat in the chair, not offensively, but in silent companionship. Someday, when she could think of it more objectively, Elphaba would remember her as surprisingly astute, or sensitive. Almost as though Eliana could look through the thick shield around Elphaba's heart and see needs even she could not identify. Or perhaps it was because she knew, perhaps because she had the same scars. Elphaba would not allow herself to explore that thought.

She was still staring at the ceiling when the stars poked their way through the thick, black night. The room seemed to be closing in on her, as though her recovery was making her bigger, and the tiny cell no longer fit. She was getting stronger, perhaps even strong enough to run. And yet now, like a chain around her ankle, there was the press. How fitting that just as she was strong enough to run, she would be running into a lion's den.

Almost soundlessly, the door clicked open. Doctor Weilhemm entered swiftly, pushing the door nearly shut. By the sliver of light from the door, he looked eerily resolute. The clock ticked, and Elphaba knew something was about to change.

"Help her get dressed. Quickly," He addressed Eliana, handing her something dark. The door shut behind him.

Without question, the maunt approached Elphaba. In her hands was a dress, solid black and well made. The bodice was thick and soft, meant to last for seasons. The skirt draped beautifully, offering warmth, modesty, and yet was clearly feminine. It was made for work, for weather, and for a woman.

"There isn't time to ask. Some things are meant to be pondered later," Eliana spoke, her voice both soft and firm. She held out the dress.

She turned her back and Elphaba dressed quickly. She was stiff and a little unsteady, but her body obeyed her. She stood and slipped her feet into her boots, which now seemed so foreign. Eliana signaled, and the doctor slipped back in. He gestured for them to follow.

They made their way down one winding hallway after another, with Elphaba testing herself each step of the way. She was winded, her stamina clearly depleted, yet she was moving. They seemed to be traveling downward, the hallways becoming ever smaller, the light dimmer. The last leg of the journey was in darkness. They stopped, and all was still. None spoke for several moments.

"This is where we part," The doctor whispered, his voice still quite commanding.

Elphaba searched his face for a moment, her sharp eyes reading his expression.

"As I understand it," He began, "my patient passed away last night, perhaps taking a turn for the worse because of the undue stress caused by the press. It's unfortunate she will not be able to comment on the matter of the Bison."

Their eyes met, and volumes passed between them. Elphaba turned to Eliana, who wrapped the green girl in a sudden embrace. Elphaba stiffened, but did not withdraw.

"Here," Dr. Weilhemm unclasped the cloak from around his neck and draped it over her shoulders. It was a heavy, solid garment, rich ebony with a deep, jade green lining. It was large, but it suited her height. "It suits you," He finished.

Elphaba fingered the thick fabric, unwilling to argue. It did suit her. In an impulsive moment, she pressed her hand against his arm, gripping his shoulder, implying things she did not have words to express.

Before she breezed out the door, she turned suddenly to Eliana.

"I have been where you've been. I have the same scars. My sister."

She left the words hanging there behind her, in the empty space where she had stood.

When the world would call her wicked, it's how Eliana would remember her. A whirl of black and emerald, a sister who would not be kept down, a person who wholly deserved to live.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Elphaba ran, following a dried canal basin which ran well out of sight from the streets above. The moon glinted off her hair, which rippled behind her, almost becoming one with the cape. Her limbs protested, her back ached, her lungs cried out for mercy. Yet she pressed herself on, relishing the simple freedom, the feeling of almost flying. She was unsure of her direction. She followed the canal until it plunged underground, and she ground to a halt. Slowly, she made her way up the access stairway to the street above. Letting her hair fall over her face in a silken, black veil, she assessed her surroundings.

The street was narrow, and deserted. Of course, she didn't expect much company in the dead of night. She followed the winding cobblestones, passing a bakery, a dressmaker, a tavern, all shuttered and dark. Elphaba felt little sense of direction, destination or purpose. She had survived yet again, against the odds and almost in spite of herself. She existed, drawing breath, unsure of what to do with another day.

In her head, she counted the days, the weeks, notched into her memory. She thought back to the calendar the doctor had so graciously hung for her. It was late spring by now, going on summer. The chill in the air was fading, and the days were warm. Even in the thick of night, it was not cold. She caught a reflection of herself in a storefront, suddenly, and was startled.

Gone was the young schoolgirl who had such high hopes for the world. The sharpness in her face was startling. She was clearly a woman now, and a commanding presence. Her hair flowed full and dark, much longer than it had been. The dress almost gave her curves. Almost. The cloak billowed around her, picking up the green of her skin and seeming to make sense out of it. Her eyes were bright, dark and searching. It was as if, for a moment, she saw what Galinda had seen, that stormy night in their dorm so long ago. Perhaps it wasn't beauty, true beauty, but it was something.

Elphaba shook off the thought and rounded the corner, trying to make sense of her whereabouts. The sun would rise soon, and she certainly couldn't be wandering aimlessly. She planned to find out from a very safe distance how far the story of the Bison and the Green Girl had spread.

With a start, she realized she was in the alley behind Hadrick's residence. She approached what she knew was the rear entrance to his walkup. The old, weathered door was wordless and still, barricaded with fresh boards. Trash was scattered about the sidewalk, evidence of a hurried search. She stood for a long time, staring, willing the stone walls to tell her something, to give her something back, or to make sense of it all. Yet there was nothing.

Except the broom.

There it lay amidst the trash, discarded and partially hidden. For a moment, she nearly walked on, but something stopped her. It was silly, since it was merely an object, a thing to clean floors, to help with a task that had been forced upon her. Yet in her great moments of need, it had come to her rescue. It had obeyed, throwing itself into the fray, and, quite satisfyingly, had drawn blood from Sir Peirory.

Elphaba reached down, and it nearly leapt into her hand. She held it, and could almost feel life within it. It fit her, like they had been made as a pair. It were as though something of her had been fused into the broom when she'd magicked it so long ago. And she couldn't very well leave another part of herself behind. She was running short on pieces.

Elphaba turned in a flurry of skirts and hurried away, just as dawn broke over the horizon. She arrived at the East Bridge winded and gasping for breath. The sun split the sky just as she curled up in a familiar spot, deep under the bridge. She wrapped the cloak around her and curled around the broom, clutching it much like a cat shelters its kittens, protecting that which is most precious. Then she slept.

**************************************************

Elphaba woke, startled. She felt hands at her back, shaking her awake. It was an unwelcome presence in the privacy of her hiding place. She leapt upward, like an animal scared from its burrow and ready to fight. In one sweeping gesture, she swung the broom around and struck the intruder square across the face. He tumbled backward, clutching his cheek.

"Sweet Oz!" The man cried out and Elphaba raised the broom above her head, limber and ready to fight.

"Fae!" He cried out, and she hesitated.

"It is you…" He realized, turning so the light crept over his face. It was Frederick. "I almost wouldn't have known…" His words trailed off as he took her in.

"Why are you here?" She demanded, refusing to lower the broom. It nearly sparked as she felt both her anger and power flow through it.

"Calm down-" He started.

She hissed in response. "Why are you here?"

"We met here…remember? I thought that if there was any chance….then maybe here…." Frederick didn't finish.

Elphaba lowered the broom, but her anger burned, her frustration mounted. As Frederick scrambled to his feet, she turned and pointed a finger in his face, "Why the persistence? Why this constant need to trail me as though I am some pet project of yours? I have told you, I owe you nothing!"

"I'm not asking for anything!" He met her challenge, shouting in return.

"Yes you are," Her voice softened suddenly, becoming strained. "I can give time, energy, courage, defiance, even magic. But I cannot give you friendship. I do not work in tandem. I wasn't born for that."

"Well, I wasn't born to ignore suffering. It's how I came into my line of work, if it can be called that." Frederick stared at her, taking in her presence and power. He, now more than ever, saw greatness in her, if he could calm her irrational spirit.

She turned to leave, and he whipped a folded newspaper from his coat, spreading fully in her view. "They think you're dead, you know," He called after her.

Elphaba whirled around and took in the headline. There was her picture, trying to shield her face from the flashbulbs in her hospital room. Above, the words "Green girl dies, Only Witness in Bison's Trial." Her shock slowly faded, and resolution set in.

"I'm better off dead," She conceded. "Death certainly makes me invisible."

She turned to leave again, and Frederick called after her, "If he hurt you, he deserves to hang. Animals are subject to justice, too. We strive to make them part of our society, not to be exempt from its law."

Elphaba spun, pressing the broom against his chest to pin him against the wall. "You think you know it all!" She spat, "You think you have me and my life figured out! You think it's all written right there, neatly printed in black and white! It's all so clear to you, the right and wrong of it! Perhaps in your revolutionist mindset, you've never considered that right is not always right, and wrong is not always punished. Sometimes, it is impossible to wrestle any right, from the tangle of wrongs life presents!" She drew deep breaths, the power of the emotion coming dangerously close to overwhelming her.

"That is true," Frederick conceded quietly. "But if you want to continue to fight for the things we can discern as right, you need me."

That much was true. Elphaba held him in her steady gaze, considering.

Moments passed before he spoke, "I fear you," He admitted, "I fear what you have the power to become, for good or for evil. What can I do to make it be for good?"

She released him, and leaned back against the wall, clutching the broom to herself. She considered what she knew of evil. It seemed to be so pervasive in her life, like vines wrapped around and through her. She wasn't sure she could ever be entirely good, with so much wickedness woven into her. Yet she desperately wanted to work for good, to make something good in the world. Elphaba supposed she must at least try.

What was it about him that made her so angry? What had made her spill her greatest secret to Eliana, yet despise nearly ever word Frederick spoke?

_The questions, _It came to her. The quiet presence of both the maunt and the doctor ran in direct contradiction to Frederick's incessant needling, his constant pressing to know and understand her.

She finally answered his question, "Our lives, our pasts, what has made us who we are, is not for discussion. We are companions in a cause, soldiers in the same army. Our present is all that matters. In this way, we can work together."

Long moments passed as Frederick considered her words.

Their eyes met in mutual understanding. He wordlessly accepted her offer. He folded the paper and tucked it away. He would never know her story, but he had gained a measure of her friendship in exchange.

"You need a hat," He suggested, "to cover your face if you want to keep working, since you're dead and all."

The corner of her mouth lifted in her customary almost-smile. This Frederick she could deal with. She breezed away with him trailing behind, emerging from the bowels of the bridge just as the sun slipped behind the horizon. There was work to be done, and the hat was the first step.

**************************************************

Elphaba strode quickly, enjoying the feeling of purpose. A mission, however small, was a mission. Under the cover of increasing darkness, she and Frederick made their way down back streets and through narrow alleys. They hardly raised an eyebrow here, as most of the passerbies were either drunk, ignorant, or more involved in hiding themselves than outing the green girl.

"Fae!" Frederick called in a half-whisper, "Fae!"

She stopped, turning to see him huffing behind her, jogging to catch up. Having not spent much time walking with company, she neglected to notice her legs were significantly longer than his.

"I would swear you're still running from me…" He teased.

"I might be," She quipped.

As usual, he could not discern whether or not she was joking. "Fae," He asked, "do you have any idea where one buys a hat?"

"I wasn't aware we had any money with which to purchase one," She answered, "Have you suddenly started spouting money out of your hindquarters?" Her humor was dry, but was humor just the same.

Frederick raised an eyebrow. "I'm simply asking if, as you run manic through the Emerald City, you have any idea where you're going?"

Elphaba stopped. Details. Sometimes, seeing the big picture left out some very significant details. She ran over in her mind her travels through the city. There had been the tavern, St. Aelphaba's, the fabric market, the printing press, the Animal Ward, and the seedy alleys and dumpsters where members of the Resistance passed information, not really knowing each other. She had not once ventured into any of the boroughs where the wealthy went to shop and buy such extravagances as hats.

"May I?" Frederick asked permission to lead.

Elphaba nodded, surrendering the lead with much regret. "I'm compelled to ask, though, how _you_ know how to find a womens hat store."

He stopped, staring at her for a moment before smirking. She was sharp, that was for sure.

Elphaba followed along behind him, still unwilling to walk in tandem. Her presence beside him might beg questions, and she had clearly meant that questions were not an option. Frederick wound carefully up and down side streets, keeping clear of the bustle and lights of the more upper class parts of the city. They found their way behind a busy shopping district just as the stores were shuttering for the evening. The masses of humanity were making their way towards the sights and smells of the late-night taverns and theatres. Their shopping done, the wealthy had money to burn on expensive tonics and shows not worth seeing.

As they waited for the last patrons to disappear, Frederick asked, "Have you ever seen a show?"

"I saw Wizomania once," Was her flat reply.

"I've never gone."

"A lot of hype, not much substance. Lots of people cavorting around, flipping and singing. The stuff of drunken silliness. Frivolous," She snapped her reply.

"And you've never, not even once, had a use for anything frivolous?" Frederick wondered aloud.

"You're asking questions again," She stopped him. Yet, deep down within herself, she had enjoyed the singing. And the company.

_Glinda…_

The memory came swiftly, and she stamped it out immediately, for her heart threatened to break again.

Taking the hint and not pressing her further, Frederick stood and made his way to a rear door, trying the knob. Finding it locked, he produced a small piece of wire from his pocket and began to work.

"A man of many talents," Elphaba chided him as he grumbled, though she quickly grew impatient with him, the wire, and the door itself.

"Perhaps I wasn't meant to have a hat…" She mumbled, her sarcasm not lost on Frederick.

"Got it!" He exclaimed, pulling open the door. "My lady…" He gestured toward the door with mock reverence.

Elphaba snorted at his attempt at formality. She swept through the door and found herself in a world beyond all that she knew. Glinda would have squealed and nearly lost her senses in the throngs of hats. The memory of her was thick and overwhelming in this place. The sting of it began to choke Elphaba.

"This one is absolutely you," Frederick interrupted her reverie. He held up a pink monstrosity, covered with beads and bursting with feathers. The brim flopped under its own weight. Elphaba was certain, even in death, that she could never wear that hat. But she knew who could, and that was all she could take.

"Where are you going? I was only teasing!" Frederick called after her as she burst out the door into the night. She took a few deep breaths, willing the memories of Glinda to leave, trying to shake off the sudden cloak of sentimentality that tried to overtake her.

"Perhaps I do not need a hat…" She mumbled, unsure that she could trust herself with this any longer.

"Fae…" Frederick started to argue.

It was then that she saw it. Just outside the door lay a pile of hat boxes, torn and disheveled. Their contents spilled out into the streets, revealing evidence of moths and neglect. They were obviously the rejects, that which did not sell. These were what the wealthy deemed unfit to grace their heads. From the midst of the pile, Elphaba pulled out a solid black box, unopened. She flipped back the lid and dust erupted and scattered. And there it was, unwanted, unneeded and too unusual, too different to be worn. Thrown out and forgotten.

It was black, but Elphaba thought she caught a hint of a pattern snaking its way up the cone of the hat. It could have been a top hat, except that it came to a definite point, in a defiant sharpness. The brim might once have been straight, crisp, and round, but time, or perhaps its own rebellion, had warped it into an undulating ring. The rise and fall of the brim seemed to speak audibly to Elphaba. _Take me. Leave me, _It said, _I am who I am with or without you. I can fulfill a purpose, simply by being something you didn't expect. _

The metaphor of it all was nearly too much for her. Elphaba clutched the hat to her chest, feeling herself in its unusual, angular strangeness. _We deserve each other…_The words came to her suddenly, and she was inclined to agree.

"Fae…no…" Frederick started to argue, "It's just too-"

He stopped abruptly as she slipped it on her head. He looked at her for a long moment.

"It's just too perfect," He finished, almost in spite of himself.

"Well, that's that then," Elphaba snapped, bustling away before Frederick could startling babbling emotionally again. Yet, as they walked, she couldn't help but catch her reflection in the dirty windows they passed. It was perfect, from the way it swooped low over her face, to the way the cone drew attention away from the green of her skin.

She was still caught up in the rare moment of happiness when they stumbled, wearily, back under the bridge. Just inside the dark crevice where Elphaba slept sat a cat, solid white with piercing eyes. The eyes studied them for a moment, before it spoke.

"They're going to hang the Bison tomorrow."

So it was a Cat.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The Cat stared at them for several moments, waiting for one of them to speak.

Realization struck Frederick first. "Aren't you….?" He couldn't seem to complete the thought.

"Malkavese. But you can call me Malky. You saved my life, some years ago," The Cat explained. He looked Elphaba up and down and commented, "You've grown up."

She snorted and whisked herself to the back of the cave-like compartment in the bridge's understructure. She whipped the cloak from around her neck and spread it gently on the stone floor. "This is where I sleep," She stated, clearly not leaving an option for anyone else to share her space.

"If you'll recall, this was my home when you found me here three years ago," The Cat gave his rebuttal, and leapt up onto the ledge. He nearly disappeared in the shadows.

Both of them turned to Frederick, as if waiting for his thoughts on the matter.

"I have my own place, if one could call it that. I'll meet you at the tavern tomorrow. 9am," He threw over his shoulder as he shuffled out into the night. "And Fae," He called back, "let the Cat stay. It's a Cat, for Oz sakes."

And then it was quiet. Elphaba stood, staring at the Animal for some time, trying to read his thoughts. Yet he was altogether feline, and revealed nothing in his large, clear, green eyes.

He finally spoke, "You know….I lived here before you. My sleeping here has nothing to do with you, and I mean you no harm. Besides, I owe you my life."

"And what do you do with your life?" She asked, not yet at ease.

"I scavenge. I survive. I fathered a litter of kittens. All but one I lost to the ARA, and their mother, too. This world is not fit for raising children, so I keep to myself. And I do not speak. This is a rare occurrence," He explained, "I prefer to live my life in peace. If I must be thought of as a cat, so be it."

The torch of revolution flared up in Elphaba, and she screeched, "But you have every right to speak! To not speak is to surrender to their atrocities!"

"I suppose. But I am not young, and I am happy with my life. After much adversity, I have a measure of peace. I have fought my battles. I am satisfied with this much now."

"To choose to do nothing is to allow this…this sin to continue!" Elphaba threw back at him, angered and perplexed.

"Perhaps…." The Cat conceded, "but it is my choice. And I believe there are those out there better suited to fight this battle. One must choose his battles, and I do not choose this one."

Elphaba folded her arms, unconvinced.

"I'm sure" Malky continued, "that you have made choices in your life that no one could understand. Choices, perhaps, that made no sense. But the choice was yours to make."

She hesitated, struck by the fact that he had a point.

"Who are you, as you have not seen my journey, to tell me which road to take?" The Cat's tone was not angry, but contemplative as he suggested such a great truth.

Elphaba sat, a little stunned at his wisdom. She was no longer wary of this Animal, but hoped to hang on to the seed of incredible knowledge he had just planted in her. How many people had tried to force her down a path, or tried to shape her choices and direct her future? And who of those had walked a moment with her? Who had ever seen the world through the eyes of Elphaba Thropp?

_Not one_, She answered her own question.

She curled up on her cloak, broom in hand. As she forced herself to sleep, Malky's presence was now a comfort, a reminder that it was still possible to choose her destiny, and never apologize for it.

**************************************************

Elphaba woke with the sunrise, finding Malky curled in a tight ball at her feet. He opened one eye as she uncurled herself, stretching her legs and rubbing the ache in the small of her back. She supposed that would be with her for life.

"So it's not beneath you to curl up with me like a house pet?" Elphaba asked, genuinely surprised to find him there.

"It's warmer here. It's all about survival," Malky answered.

"I need my cloak," She stated, eyeing him expectantly.

"It's not cold," He argued flatly, unwilling to uncurl himself.

"I don't need it for the cold," Elphaba shot back, her patience draining.

"So be it then," He gave in, stretching his small frame and leaping up into the shadows of the trusses.

She started to leave, then turned, "Thank you," She called back. She didn't know why she suddenly found a need for pleasantries. Perhaps it was because, in spite of herself, she wanted him to be there when she returned.

It was a long walk to the tavern, and the Cat had been right. It was not cold. It was becoming quite warm at midday, and the cloak was heavy. But it shielded her neck and face from view, and gave her a sense of protection she could not explain. She carried the broom along, refusing to leave it behind. It made her an odd sight, but she couldn't risk losing it.

The dark of the tavern was a welcome relief. Elphaba made her way to the back corner and slipped into a bench facing the wall. With its high back, she was nearly invisible from the doorway. Still, Frederick found her. He knew where to look.

He seemed especially ill at ease today. He sat down, wringing his hands and mumbling to himself.

"Frederick," Elphaba cut into his thoughts as he drummed his fingers loudly on the table, "I'm afraid it has taken you exactly one minute to be on my nerves. What is going on?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry….our assignment today is just…trying. I'm afraid you won't like it."

"It's not about my liking it. You know that!" She snapped.

Frederick met her gaze. "We are to stop the Bison's hanging. We are to demand he have a fair trial. The hope is that a few voices will incite the rest of the crowd to agree with our demands. They can't very well deny a crowd of hundreds what they ask for…" He attempted to explain, perhaps mostly for himself.

Elphaba looked at him for long moments before she spoke. "I can't very well demand anything. I'm dead," She took a pragmatic view.

"Do you want to remain dead to the Resistance?"

"No, but I can remain out of commission for one more day, can't I?"

"I suppose," Frederick conceded, "but what of me?"

"You make your own choice," She stated, annoyed at what seemed to be an obvious answer.

"Only you can tell me what the right choice is," He looked her straight in the eyes, and she turned away, showing him one well-defined, emerald cheekbone.

"Fae, I'm not asking for your story. I don't need to know anything except how to do the right thing. I'm asking you to help me make a choice for good, as best as we can see what is good. Or if not good, then just. Tell me how to play a part in justice. Only you can help me work for the right," Frederick nearly pleaded, and unbecoming as it was, he meant well.

Elphaba turned back to face him. She thought for a long moment, studying his eyes as she considered her response.

"No," She finally answered, "My battle, whatever it may be, is not yours to fight. You must do what is right in your eyes. You must fight for our cause to the best of your ability. The Bison has chosen his path. Let's see what Lurline or the Unnamed God, or simple fate, has in store for him."

Frederick didn't seem convinced. "That's your answer?"

"Yes," She did not hesitate, "To deter you from your cause, from our cause, would be the greatest wrong, the greater sin."

Frederick simply nodded, accepting her decision.

To her surprise, it seemed a weight was lifted. Casting Hadrick's fate onto the whim of god or nature removed a burden. Let the earth who had born him decide whether he should live or die.

They sat in quiet reverie for some time, each lost in their own musings and considerations. The sun rose in the sky to the noon position before either spoke.

"We must go, it's almost time," Frederick stood, waiting.

"I don't think a crowd of that nature is the best place for me," She argued, hiding the twinge of fear she felt.

"I need you there, in case something happens to me," He answered flatly, unwilling to elaborate on what that 'something' might be. "Come on," He nearly drug her out of the tavern and into the jarring sunlight.

"You're bringing a broom?" He raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of it in her hand.

She gave him a look that would freeze hell, and he started walking.

The walk across the city to the Ministry of Justice was both long and hot. The stones were warmed beneath their feet by the midday sun, yet Elphaba kept the cloak draped over her neck. The hat cast her face in shadows, hiding her verdigris from passerby.

When they arrived, a small crowd had already assembled. Hadrick stood on all fours, shackled to the old wooden stage-like structure that was used for criminal punishment. It had almost been torn down, as hangings, beheadings and other atrocities were nearly unheard of anymore. That is, until the Code of Order, and the Banns on Animals. Now, it was used to make examples of the innocent, to incite fear and obedience.

She and Frederick made their way to the far side of the square and slipped into a shadowy crevice.

"If anything happens to me," Frederick began earnestly, "take this to the 8th Ward post office. Leave it in box 489." He pressed a folded piece of parchment into her hand and started to leave. "Stay here," He warned her, "until it's safer."

With that he slipped into the crowd and disappeared. For a moment, she almost went after him. _Screw the Bison, _She wanted to say, _Let him hang in spite of the Resistance. _But she stopped herself. This was not about her vendetta, or gaining justice for Elphaba Thropp. This was about the greater cause, the freedom of Animals and their right to a fair trial.

_It's in the hands of the Unnamed God, if he exists, _She told herself as she peered out from her hiding place. She scanned the crowd, trying to guess which of them might also be members of the Resistance. It was impossible to tell.

As she peered around the stone corner of a building, a sudden burst of wind tipped her hat backward. She caught it as it started to tumble down her back.

At the moment her hat fell, their eyes met.

Across the square, Sir Peirory took in the green of her face and his mouth set in a thin line of recognition. He started toward her swiftly, and she turned to run.

The crevice where Elphaba stood offered no escape, ending only in a stone wall. She backtracked and ran down the cobblestone street away from the square. She shoved the hat back down over her face as she ran. She could hear pounding footsteps behind her, and she aimed herself away from the East Bridge, which was her one undiscovered place of safety.

Elphaba ran until her lungs ached and threatened to burst. Her side cramped and her back cried out for mercy. Her vision began to swim from the exertion. Yet the footsteps continued behind her. The tall buildings began to give way to smaller residences, and eventually dock-side shops that advertised fresh fish. She saw the boats and turned to run up an embankment, almost collapsing to her knees several times as she climbed skyward. When the grass became unfinished stone, she realized her escape route had run out. The ledge dropped off sharply, ending a couple of scores of feet below in large, uneven boulders. Water lapped at the stones, and the river stretched out before her, impassable.

Elphaba turned to face him.

Peirory stopped, his chest heaving for breath. Whatever he planned to do to her would have to wait at least a moment.

She realized in that moment that she still clutched the broom. She drew it in front of her with both hands, like a shield in battle.

His breath caught, Peirory withdrew a pistol from his sheath and aimed it toward her, cocking the trigger.

"Why?" She asked, at least wanting to understand her death, if she was to die.

"Because I can," He growled, smirking hatefully.

"Is that also why you suppress and torment Animals?" She spat, "Because you can?"

"Are you an Animal?" His question seemed rhetorical, as though he had already passed judgment on her.

Elphaba narrowed her eyes, hatred oozing from their depths.

"Those who do not submit to their superiors deserve to be punished. Animals who submit may live, as we allow them to live. Those who don't, die," He answered, if only to mock her.

"And what of me?" She couldn't help asking.

"You are used. I, and obviously many others, have all we need from you. And you are altogether too difficult to contain. You are wildly obnoxious and your rebellion has overshadowed your usefulness as a whore. You will not submit, so you do not deserve to live." Peirory spoke harshly, but without emotion. "You could have spared yourself much aggravation had you died the first time." He raised the pistol.

Something snapped within her. Elphaba had endured the shock and persistent pain of having been used. She had lived with the scars and wordlessly suffered endless nights of shame. She had lived in fear, remorse, and unspoken anger, yet this she had never felt. To be told she did not deserve to live smacked in the face of everything that helped her survive to this point. She was alive in spite of herself. She was alive because something beyond her in this crazy existence seemed to want her to keep breathing. To hear, out loud, the things she had feared and questioned about herself all her life was too much. The pain of it overtook her and built up in her until she trembled. She grit her teeth together in determination.

"You do not decide my worth," Elphaba could barely get the words out over the hard, lump of hurt that had built up in her throat.

The powerful mix of feelings seemed to flow out of her, running from her hands, through the broom and making it twitch. She gripped it tightly, lest it leap out of her hands.

Peirory moved to pull the trigger, and the broom flew at him, let loose by a force he had yet to encounter. The blow knocked the gun from his hand and sent him tumbling several feet in the air. He landed with a thud, trying to scramble to his feet.

The broom whisked itself back into Elphaba's outstretched hand, returning to her like a dog to its master.

Peirory found his footing, screaming obscenities and rustling through the shrubbery for the gun. Unable to find it, he finally turned and charged at her, howling like a rabid animal capable of knocking her backward off the steep ledge.

Elphaba clutched the broom to her chest. With nowhere to run, she willed herself away, willed herself freedom from the persistent evil that was Peirory. Suddenly, she was airborne, lifted by the broom several stories into the air. She clutched the handle, partially terrified. She had no idea if she had any control, or how she had done it. She simply hovered there, the wind billowing the cloak out around her as the sun streaked the western sky behind her.

And then, as easily as it had happened, she touched the ground. There was an eerie stillness as she realized Peirory was nowhere to be seen. Elphaba dared to glance over the rocky ledge, and caught a glimpse of a body, torn apart on the jagged rocks below. The river water was stained crimson from the blood.

She stared for long moments, not feeling any great joy, but not feeling any sense of remorse, either. She was, after all, not a murderer. Fate had seen it fit to deliver Sir Peirory to his rocky demise. And for Elphaba, it seemed as if something, someone, somewhere, had answered the question of who deserved to live.

**************************************************

Elphaba stood there for quite some time, until she felt the sting of sweat on her neck from the afternoon sun. She stood, motionless, until the trembling stopped, and her breath came in a normal rhythm. In spite of herself, she felt a surge of happiness. Not at Peirory's death, for his death did not make good. Only his apology could have made good. It was the freedom of flight, the surge of adrenaline and emotion, the idea that she could take to the sky and leave behind all that she knew. Flight was a powerful skill, so powerful it had made the Birds all but exempt from the Animal banns. In the sky, riding the wind, she would not be green. She would blend into the streaking sunset, a symbol of enduring freedom for every Animal.

As her thoughts raced, Elphaba seized the broom and tried to discern what had made it fly. She gripped it tightly, held it out before her and willed it to rise. Nothing. She reached deep within herself and tried to call up that surge of power she had felt. Nothing. She threw one leg over the handle, mounting it like a horse. Nothing.

She cursed and threw it to the ground. "Infernal broom! You drain every ounce of power from me, and yet refuse to follow any command! What I'd give for just a measure of control!" She threw the statement into the sky, knowing, without admission, that its meaning was dual.

Elphaba was considering leaving the broom where it lay, when a sliver of parchment caught her eye. Dropped in the heat of the fray, it was tangled in the grass.

_Frederick, _She suddenly remembered.

Discovering what had caused the broom to fly would have to wait. She seized the folded paper, along with the rebellious broom, and picked her way carefully down the hill. It was far more treacherous going down, and she nearly slipped several times on the bare rock. How she had managed to scale what was now obviously a small cliff only the Unnamed God knew. She reached the docks below looking quite disheveled. She stopped to tame her hair, re-securing it in a knot, and to curse the broom a little more.

_If you would fly, we wouldn't be wasting time clamoring over rocks! And we would both be significantly less disgusting! _Vanity was not normally a concern of Elphaba's, but the broom seemed such a fickle, picky thing. Appearance would concern such a creature. And she'd started to think of it as a creature in its own right, with her to blame for its birth.

Despite its disobedience, she considered as she made her way back to the Ministry of Justice, it was not the broom's rebellion that immediately saddened her. It was the loss of flight. That momentary thrill had been enough to hook her. She had tasted the wind and knew she was somehow destined for it. It was everything she had hoped for, the one thing so far in her life that proved to be utterly, purely, gloriously good. Sorcery had been a second-hand skill until that moment, something she worked at out of necessity. Not anymore. If it was the one spell, or enchantment, that she ever learned, she would make the broom fly again. Someday. Somehow.

_Yet today, there is the Bison, _She remembered as she rounded the corner into the sun-drenched square in front of the Ministry of Justice. She stopped, and there he was. There had obviously been a commotion. Papers littered the square and members of Gale Force stood around with weapons drawn. A few onlookers remained, whispering to each other and pointing.

The Bison hung from his noose, quite dead.

The numbness surprised Elphaba, as she had expected to feel a measure of joy. Yet his death did her no great service. It did not take away the memories, nor the scars. Being avenged did not wipe from her the pain she had endured, the regret she still carried, or the losses she had suffered. In that moment, she realized that the death of an enemy does little to save the soul. Pain does not erase pain.

She stared for a long time, until a group of Gale Force soldiers caught her eye. One stepped aside momentarily, and she realized that before them lay a body. She moved closer, unable to believe the crowd had turned violent that afternoon. It was, after all, meant to be a peaceful protest, meant only to spur the crowd into action.

She caught a snatch of their conversation as she moved closer, her head ducked, "It was the right thing to do. Can't have these crazy revolutionists inciting rebellion against the Wizard. One less of 'em will be one less worry," The others snorted or cackled their agreement.

Elphaba lifted her head just slightly, and felt her stomach drop. The line of the coat. The shock of brown hair. The munchkin-like stature.

_Frederick._

She backed away, stumbled away, feeling both dizzy and sick. Knowing her erratic behavior would draw attention, she sought refuge in an alley.

_Frederick is dead, _The words played themselves in her mind as if to make it real. Yet she found the lump in her throat was not sadness, but anger. She slammed her fists against the unforgiving stone wall and grit her teeth to keep from crying out.

_While you were off running from the ghosts of your past and getting your selfish revenge, Frederick was dying for the cause your swore your life to defend! What a revolutionist you are! _Elphaba knew she was irrational, but irrational came quite naturally to her.

_I should have been there! _She berated herself, _I should have stood with the Resistance regardless of Hadrick! I should have been there…_

Her thoughts trailed off. She knew her logic was skewed, but somehow it seemed that her vendetta had cost Frederick his life. The world seemed to stand still in the senselessness of it all.

She glanced down, and realized she still clutched the folded parchment in her hand. It was all she had left, and she had promised she would deliver it. She rose to her feet and began to walk. The sheer act of doing something eliminated the need for more self-berating and questioning. She walked silently, stoically, feeling utterly alone.

Elphaba reached the 8th Ward post office by sundown and found box 489. She stared at it, memorizing its bronze finish and the engraved numbers. She ran her fingers over the parchment, considering whether she should read it. It was not out of any great curiosity, but out of tribute to Frederick. What would he have wanted? She considered it a moment longer, and then slipped it into the slot, unread.

There was finality to it, and she felt empty. She pressed a hand to the cool bronze, as a tribute to the friend she hadn't wanted, yet a friend just the same.

_Why? _Her mind dared to wonder.

Yet there was no answer from the box, just the coolness of metal and the reflection of the sunset.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Malky was waiting when she returned, his tail swishing from atop the ledge, his eyes piercing through the darkness.

"You don't look good," Was his blunt observation.

Elphaba huffed and threw herself into the corner. Sliding the broom behind her, she slid off her hat and made an attempt to run her fingers through her unruly hair. She was thoroughly unsuccessful.

The Cat jumped down with a soft thump and crossed to sit beside her on the edge of the cloak. Neither spoke for a long time.

"Frederick is—"She stopped, finding the words didn't come as easily as she expected. "Frederick is dead," She whispered.

Malky nodded, taking it in. "A martyr for the cause?" He questioned.

Elphaba simply nodded.

"You and I both know this is to be expected," He did not attempt to sugar-coat the truth.

"I know!" She snapped, "But I was…if I had only been…if it weren't for…" She started, stopped, sputtered, and finally just screamed. Elphaba tugged at her hair and wailed obscenely for a moment.

"Feel better?" Malky asked.

"A little," she whispered,

"There's nothing wrong with a good scream. You've earned it."

The fact that Malky did not think she was crazy calmed Elphaba's nerves significantly. Ludicrous as might be, his opinion mattered. He'd lost his whole family, after all. He was no stranger to suffering.

"I can see your head working," He started, "and I'll tell you, you cannot make sense of this. Our world, by nature, doesn't make sense. The best you can do is find what you can take from it that betters you. That is the only good that is wrought from tragedy."

Elphaba sat for a long while, unable to argue. She considered the day, with its deliverance of justice, and its lack of satisfaction. She considered Frederick, who he was and his persistent driving for her to be good. What had he said to her?

_I fear what you have the power to become, for good or for evil. What can I do to make it be for good?_

Frederick had died for his cause, for the belief that every creature deserved its rights and its freedom. He died defending an Animal that utterly deserved to hang, because the freedom of all Animals was the greater good.

An image of Hadrick, hung and made a spectacle, flashed through Elphaba's mind. She fixed on it. That was it. Unknowingly, that was what Frederick was trying to save her from. Even without knowing her story, he somehow sensed that she was precariously close to giving into anger and bitterness. The scars of her past threatened to overwhelm her, to make her hate stronger than she could love. She imaged that, for Hadrick, the humans who had wronged him had become so overwhelming to him, that they blocked the possibility that any human might wish to save him. He had succumbed to hatred, prejudice and cruel stereotyping. And Elphaba herself was entirely capable of becoming the same person.

Frederick's legacy to her was the image of the Bison, hung at the end of his hateful, wasted life. She would not allow that to be her fate.

"For Frederick's sake," She whispered, "I'll make good."

Malky curled up at her feet, not understanding, yet not needing to.

**************************************************

Elphaba absentmindedly stroked Malky's fur, grateful he allowed her the privilege. She wasn't sure how many days it had been. She had hardly moved, sleeping in spurts and staring at the patterns in the stone trusses. Lying on the uneven stone had begun to take its toll, and the cloak yielded little comfort. Her back ached, accentuated by the occasional stabbing pain. She supposed she would have to live with it, having no other prospects when it came to living arrangements.

Malky proved himself to have a remarkable loyalty, for all his aloofness. He brought food somewhat regularly. Granted, it was bits and pieces of things he was quick enough to steal. He did not speak when scavenging, however, which occasionally afforded him generous handouts. Humans were so much more willing to give to a cat.

"I suppose I've sold my soul, quite literally," He commented one evening, having scored a whole, roasted quail from a sympathetic chef in an upper class borough.

Elphaba simply gave her best attempt at a grateful smile, and scratched behind his ear, which made him purr.

She knew she should get up, get out. She should be finding a new contact with the Resistance, finding a more suitable shelter. Yet the prospect seemed daunting. It seemed that some of her bravery and bravado had been lost, and replaced with sour skepticism and distrust. She wanted to believe she could withstand anything, that her calloused strength was enough to get her through whatever life might throw at her. But the prospect of stumbling into the home, or even companionship, of another Hadrick made her nauseous. Elphaba also knew she should be seeking out the Resistance, finding a new contact who could communicate she was not, in fact, dead. Yet, in spite of herself, she could not bring herself to do that, either. It seemed that to reconnect would wipe out the memory of Frederick entirely, and she wasn't ready for that.

Once the numbness of Frederick's death had worn off, she realized the extent to which his friendship had affected her. He had peeled away some of the layers of hardness, and exposed her wounds, if just a little. She found she wanted to feel the goodness he saw in her, and pressed on her. The momentary thrill at Peirory's demise had cracked her façade further, showing her she still had a heart underneath the scars.

Like a scab removed prematurely, what was underneath didn't seem ready for the world. The Elphaba under the wounds was new and different and changed. Like fresh, rosy new skin that is painful to the touch, she hurt.

The ache in her chest had also begun the day after Frederick died, and had persisted, ceasing only when she slept. It sometimes overwhelmed her, resonating from deep within and catching her breath. Other times, it was dull, like a heaviness in her stomach. It was a physical pain, which at first surprised her, yet it was entirely different than the nagging pain in her back. It also drug up tears, which pooled behind her eyes and threatened to spill. She cursed them and willed them away, often working up a throbbing headache trying to stem their flow. The only thing that eased the ache was to climb out into the night, clinging precariously to the underbelly of the bridge, and scream. With all that was in her, she wailed until she was exhausted, and then she would sleep some more.

When Malky questioned her, she stumbled over her words until she spit out a description of how she felt, feeling somewhat ashamed.

He looked at her for a long moment, before placing a tiny paw on her emerald hand, "There is no shame in that, my dear. That ache is grief. A person has to grieve, whether they are human or Animal," He thought for a moment before he continued, "Perhaps that is why I was left here, to grieve with you."

The sentiment touched her, but not nearly so much as his word choice.

_A person._

Elphaba realized she had not been called a person since Hadrick had stripped her of that title and all its rights. She was a person who could grieve. Though her ability to love, to completely trust, even to forgive, were all in great question, she could grieve. She could, indeed, feel.

She looked Malky straight in the eyes before she spoke, "You're right. You're here to grieve with me. But you are also what I'm fighting for. Your wisdom, your kindness, they are the very essence of why Animals should be saved," She stopped for a moment, "I don't know if I can find my way back into the Resistance, but if fate deals me the chance, I accept."

With that, she swished out into the night to sit, grieving under the stars, but silently this time, with Malky at her side.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Summer came on strong, settling over the Emerald City like an insufferable blanket during the day. At night, however, there was a measure of relief. Perhaps it was the need to catch the occasional breeze that caused Elphaba to continue to climb out onto the bridge trusses at night. Her wailing had ceased, and was replaced by a quiet stillness. Her heart still ached, yet it was duller now, tolerable, even. Malky sat beside her, without fail. She often wondered if it was her growing fondness for the Cat that continued to push out the grief. It seemed his constant presence was filling her with something warm, filling the gaping chasm she imagined existed where her heart should be.

With Frederick gone and very little else to do but think, Elphaba realized she was not just grieving over the loss of a companion. She grieved for the loss of relationships she hadn't even considered were possible. Admitting how Frederick had affected her made her realize she might have loved him. She couldn't help imagining the disgust any man would feel to discover her scars and the way she had been used. She grieved the loss of any future companionship, of ever being loved as a woman. It was an unexpected grief, since she'd never before realized such a thing mattered to her.

Occasionally, when she was fighting back tears the hardest, Malky would curl himself up in her lap. He was the only creature allowed to touch her. Elphaba found that she could not abide being touched. Even the brush of a stranger against her on the street brought fear and vomit to her throat. She loathed feeling this way, but try as she might, she could not put back on the armor that had kept her numb for nearly a year. The death of her friend and the presence of the Cat had pulled her guard down. She was left with the truth and depth of her scars.

She considered this as she sat on the bridge, this time with Malky at her side.

"What happened to your other child? The one who survived?" Her question was blunt and direct, but she knew that's what Malky expected. He didn't mince words.

He considered for a moment, cocking his head to the side and blinking his wide, clear green eyes. "She ran. As hard and fast as she could, for one only ten weeks old," He paused, remembering, "She was solid black…beautiful fur. Bright green eyes. Their mother was a calico. A show cat. She had a beautiful voice."

Elphaba considered this, "So you never saw her again?"

"No. It is my greatest hope that she is alive."

"And the rest of them?" She dared to ask.

"Exterminated." Malky's tone was flat.

Elphaba inhaled sharply, finding the word itself painful. She had heard there were Animal exterminations taking place, but the confirmation of such an atrocity was a horrid reality.

"They were herded into cages and carried away. Some of the Gale Force threw out statements about 'work camps'. But we knew. We all knew. We had heard from the Resistance how they were euthanizing any Animal small enough to be held down." Malky looked away for a moment, studying the sky. "I stopped talking then. Out of grief….maybe anger…and a desire to stay alive to find my daughter."

Elphaba let his words sink in before she spoke, "Do you speak to anyone other than me?"

"No," His answer was simple, yet powerful.

She felt utterly unworthy of his friendship, and his wisdom. Elphaba was incredibly awkward at expressions of gratitude, and she found her words stuck in her throat. Anything she could say in return seemed either trite, or too difficult for her to express. Somewhere deep within her, she longed to tell him about her scars, if only to know that she could voice the story without screaming, or vomiting, or letting loose torrents of fiery tears. Yet she still could not.

Instead, she opened her mouth and sang. She reached into that unidentifiable place inside her and brought forth a haunting melody. It was wordless, yet soaked in meaning. Malky seemed to understand, as he closed his eyes and took it in.

When she stopped, his eyes were rimmed with tears.

"You sound like her," He whispered.

Elphaba looked away, her dark hair spilling over her face.

"You have a gift," Malky continued.

She snorted slightly, refusing to meet his eyes.

The Cat was silent for a moment, thinking.

"You are not who you think you are," He finally told her, and she had to meet his eyes, if only to try to understand his meaning. "Thank you," He whispered rising to leave.

Elphaba sat for a long moment, wondering how he could put such wisdom into so few words.

Some time later, her thoughts were interrupted by a strange voice echoing from the bowels of the bridge below her. "Fae…I'm looking for Fae," It whispered.

Elphaba crept back into the shadows, not sure that she was ready for this.

**************************************************

As Elphaba's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the underbelly of the bridge, she found herself looking at a human silhouette. She instinctively seized the broom for protection.

"Fae?" It spoke again, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Who calls me?" She asked, her tone wary.

"One who wishes to become many," The figure answered, and Elphaba recognized the phrase of those in the Resistance.

She relaxed her hold on the broom slightly, yet her heart leapt in her chest. Impossibly, they had found her.

"So you are the infamous Fae?" It was more of a statement than a question. As it spoke, the figure stepped forward. The moonlight fell across her face, and she turned out to be a woman.

She was tall, and solidly built. In the dim light, her skin was a deep ochre, hinting that her ancestry lie in the Vinkus, possibly in Winkie country. Her hair was plaited tightly around her head, with one braid snaking its way down her back. Tattoos in black and burgundy encircled her arms, which were bare underneath her black cloak.

"I'm infamous?" Was Elphaba's response, her eyebrow raised.

"You burned down the Ninth Ward printing press," The woman's voice was full of respect.

"That I did," Elphaba answered. She felt a twinge of pride. To be recognized for an accomplishment, to be respected, was a new experience, and she felt awkward in the moment. She stepped forward into the moonlight.

The woman gasped, her eyes widening.

"You're the green girl! Sweet Oz…I thought surely that was tabloid nonsense! You're supposed to be…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

"Dead?" Elphaba finished dryly. "Unfortunately no….I have lived to have this awkward conversation with you," She crossed her arms impatiently, "Was there something more?"

The woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, not producing any words. Finally, she sputtered, "My name is Nyalana."

Elphaba gestured towards the depths of the bridge, "Would you care to step inside my……bridge?" She threw out sarcastically.

Nyalana hesitated, her eyes still fixed on Elphaba's emerald face.

"Oh for Oz sakes! I don't bite!" Elphaba spat, turning and marching back into the darkness. She had never been a patient person, and the Winkie girl's gaping reminded her far too much of her early days at Shiz. So she was green? This girl was deep brown, and Boq had been ghostly white. Reaching back further, she remembered Turtle Heart's rosy skin. With such a colorful spectrum of people in the world, she swore she would go to her grave trying to understand why green was so repulsive.

"I'm sorry," Nyalana found her wits, "I just never expected….Well I suppose it doesn't matter…we have work to do."

Elphaba's eyebrow raised again. "First," She interjected, "how did you find me?" She would not dismiss that this might be some sort of trap.

"Frederick," Nyalana answered, and the mention of his name stung. "I was his contact, his vessel for entry into the Resistance. I was informed he was killed, and that he left instructions to find you. That is all I know."

Elphaba studied her for a moment, caught between wanting to curl up in the corner, and wanting to run full speed into the night on a new mission.

"If you're willing," Nyalana continued, "we are to go to St. Glinda's tomorrow at noon for instructions." She looked intently at Elphaba, trying to meet her eyes.

The green woman finally looked up, locking her dark eyes with Nyalana's. "I'll be there," She stated, striding over to the corner and flopping down on her cloak. The other girl was clearly dismissed.

A slight smile worked at the corner of the Winkie girl's mouth, and she turned to disappear into the night.

Above Elphaba, in the shadows, Malky smiled.

**************************************************

The next morning, Elphaba awoke with the sun. She rubbed her back, working out the ache that every morning brought. She tied her hair securely and pulled her hat down over her eyes. She flipped the cloak over her shoulders and tucked the broom away in a crevice of the bridge.

Malky had left breakfast, and was now curled up, asleep. Being mostly nocturnal, he would sleep through noon.

By the time the sun blazed over the horizon in streaks of rose and amber, Elphaba was on her way. She had a long walk ahead of her, and she knew to pace herself. St. Glinda's was nearly on the opposite side of the Emerald City. She picked her way out from under the bridge, making her way through alleys and keeping to the lesser-traveled streets. She knew her way to the center of the city fairly well, and she barely glanced up as she made her way. Her pace slowed once she entered the Ninth Ward, however, as she was less familiar with this upper class part of town. She kept to the shadows, and her stomach untwisted in relief as she caught site of St. Glinda's.

The mammoth structure towered over her, and she made her way hesitantly inside. It was cool and dark in the stone structure. Candles flickered and cast dancing shadows on the walls. She made her way over to a statue of St. Glinda, taking in its towering presence, its delicate grace, and its strength.

_Glinda…_

The memory tried to surface again, and Elphaba shoved it away, burying it with so many other things.

She was suddenly aware of a presence beside her. Turning her head slightly, she recognized Nyalana.

"Follow me," The Winkie girl spoke.

Elphaba found herself being led down several winding corridors to a small prayer room. The only light came from one struggling candle against the far wall. Nyalana crossed the room and blew out the candle. No longer able to see, Elphaba felt her leave the room. She stood there, very still, waiting.

"What is your name?" A voice finally whispered.

"Fae."

"Good. I see you are a survivor."

"I suppose…" Her reply was shaky.

"Do you have any family?" The voice asked.

"No," Her reply was curt.

"Friends?"

"My only friend is dead."

"Very well then," The voice seemed to approve, although not unkindly, "you are to go to the Wizard's palace in three days time. Go to the East wall and wait. You will be given access. Once inside, find the third floor library. You are looking for a large book, very old, with this inscription." A piece of parchment was slid into her hand, and she startled at the touch.

"Bring it to this room immediately. That is all," The voice was silent, and Elphaba felt very alone. She clutched the parchment and turned to find her way back out the door.

Nyalana waited just outside the prayer room. She led them both back outside without question, clearly understanding that Elphaba's assignment was not for discussion. In the slanting light of the alley behind St. Glinda's, Nyalana simply pressed a hand to Elphaba's shoulder and strode away. Such was the Resistance. Whether she would see the Winkie girl again, only time would tell.

For now, Elphaba made her way back to the bridge, lost in her thoughts.

As ambiguous as the Resistance could be, Elphaba knew she had been given a dangerous task, an important task. Something that was kept in the Wizard's palace would be of great value, and would not be easily stolen. She knew she could be put to death for such a crime. Yet she was strangely proud at having been given a mission that could end in death. She had gained a measure of respect in the silent, faceless world of the Resistance.

Her state of eagerness made the next three days drag on mercilessly. She nibbled at food and altogether frustrated Malky with her sullen moodiness. He retreated to the heights of the bridge trusses, leaving her to stew in her impatience.

Finally, the sun was setting on the third day. Elphaba pulled her hat down low over her brow. She would need its cover tonight. With her cloak pulled high around her neck, she set out, hoping to blend into the inky black night.

The new moon was high and dark as she reached the palace grounds. High shrubs and full trees surrounded the soaring gates, making any entrance daunting in the least. She made her way to the East wall. She stood amongst the shrubbery, watching and waiting. She suddenly felt herself being pulled, then drug, through an opening in the wall. Upon emerging on the other side, she couldn't say for sure where the opening had been, as it was so overgrown with vines and other greenery.

She didn't have time to consider it further, as she was being led forcefully through the dark. Part of her wanted to scream and pull away, yet she knew to do so would forfeit everything. She swallowed hard and allowed herself to be all but drug to a small, rear door in the palace. She was shoved through, and found herself in a kitchen of some sort.

Elphaba looked around, her eyes slowly adjusting. Large pots and baskets of fruits and vegetables came into focus. She slowly, soundlessly made her way out and into the nearest hallway. Having no instruction as to where to find the library, she crept like a cat in the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns. It was late, and surely any staff would be sleeping, expecting any potential intruder to be caught by the guards at the gates.

She found a winding stair case and began to climb cautiously, having nowhere to hide should someone appear around the bend. She counted the floors, emerging on what must be the third. The Wizard's palace was vast. She remembered that much from her visit with Glinda three years prior. There could easily be a hundred rooms on this floor alone. Elphaba drew a deep breath and began to creep steadily forward, peering cautiously into each room. She willed each door not to creak, each stone not to shift as she made her way.

Finally, she pushed open a large, quoxwood door that revealed shelf after shelf of books. Her mouth dropped open for a moment at the sheer magnitude of it. Her fingers itched to touch, to explore, to read. Yet she held back. This was not a time for indulgence. Stooping, she unfolded the parchment and began to run her fingers over the volumes, looking for the strange lettering.

Hours passed. The clocked ticked. Her vision swam. Book after book after book passed in front of her. She opened a few, unable to restrain herself. The library was full of books from cultures she'd never heard of, in languages she had never seen. It was a window into the vast diversity that existed beyond the world she knew.

In one volume, she stumbled upon a passage and stopped.

_Why should you be beaten anymore?  
Why do you persist in rebellion?  
Your whole head is injured,  
your whole heart afflicted. _

_From the sole of your foot to the top of your head  
there is no soundness—  
only wounds and welts  
and open sores,  
not cleansed or bandaged  
or soothed with oil. _

It seemed to speak to her, to described her wounds, her scars, and yet her need to persist. Despite her pain, she was still going. She ripped the page from the book and tucked it into her cloak.

Mercifully, her fingers ran over a large book a few inches down the shelf. She carefully matched the lettering on the parchment to the volume, and then pulled it into her arms. It was large, heavy and awkward. She set it at her feet and knelt to study the cracked and peeling leather, the strange markings in the faded cover. Without time to open it, she heaved it into her arms and made her way back the way she had come.

It was slower going, with the unwieldy book in her arms, yet she only had to duck into a corner once as a servant snuck from his lover's quarters back to his own room. His dealings were almost as shady as her own, she considered, as she crept through the kitchen once more.

Once outside, she hugged the book close and ran, becoming a moving black shadow in the moonless night. She fumbled through the brush, taking nearly half a tree with her as she spilled onto the deserted street.

Elphaba leaned for a moment against the wall, her breath coming in heaving spasms. She waited for her heart to calm its pounding, and straightened her clothes. Leaves were imbedded in her hair and tangled in the cloak, and she cursed them all trying to remove them.

Only slightly less disheveled, she made her way to St. Glinda's.

In the depth of night, the building was all shadows and eerie gold light. Passing a few praying maunts, she found the prayer room. It was dark, with a chill that even summer couldn't seem to remove. Elphaba slid the book onto the small table next to the defeated candle and turned to leave. She glanced one last time, wondering its significance.

And then she whisked back out and into the night.

She was weary, her eyes heavy as she trekked back to the bridge. Perhaps in her fatigue her senses were dulled, her mind less focused, for she did not hear him approaching until he seized her from behind.

"It's late to find a lady on the street," A voice hissed into her ear. Large hands seized her arms and held her tight.

Elphaba struggled, kicking and jabbing with her elbows, trying to free herself.

The man turned her around and pinned her against the nearest wall. He pressed himself against her, and she felt the vomit rise in her throat.

"I remember you," He slurred, clearly having been drinking, "You're the green whore. Best money I ever spent," He smiled, revealing about five teeth.

A flash of recollection from countless nights of shame flashed through her mind. She felt paralyzed, her fear so great she nearly stopped breathing. Yet at the same time, she loathed herself for being so afraid. She hated fervently that this one thing could sap her strength and make her utterly useless. It seemed to be Hadrick's legacy in her life. He'd found the one way to keep her down, to make her powerless, to take her strength and reduce her to nothing.

The man pressed his lips to hers, and the stench of alcohol and filth choked her. He chuckled, "What's wrong? You seemed so…eager…before," He mocked her.

He reached down and hitched up her skirt, his hand finding its way under the layers of fabric to her bare skin. She swallowed over the shame and bit back the tears, trying to conjure up the power that had magicked the broom, wishing it were with her. His hand slid up her thighs, grazing over the scars and coming to rest in the folds of her womanhood.

He smiled sickly, "I bet it's just a good as I remember…"

And with his words, something within Elphaba snapped. With strength greater than her size, she shoved him off of her, wheeling him around and slamming him into the stone wall. Perhaps it was the crazed look in her eyes, or the effects of the alcohol, but he froze. Elphaba drove a knee between his legs and watched him collapse onto the street. As he lay, writhing in pain and whimpering like a dog, she spat on him.

She pressed her heel against his throat and met his eyes.

"I am not a whore."

Her words were measured, even, and sure.

Without so much as a backward glance, she left him.

The bridge was a welcome sight, and rest a welcome relief. She slept deeply, shutting out the demons that had been reawakened.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Hands seized her. Bodies pressed against her. Her clothes were torn and cast away, and she found herself violated. Faceless figures passed before her, invaded her. Their laughter echoed just beyond her reach. Her screams were suffocated, and she gasped for air, clawing and struggling for freedom…_

Elphaba gasped, drawing in the moist, night air in heaving breaths. She sat up, realizing she was trembling. Her body ached as though she'd slept with her muscles tightly clenched, as if ready for battle. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to stop the trembling.

It was a scenario that had repeated itself many times over the past several weeks.

The night with the book had made her feel so victorious, so free. She had felt she could simply cast off her demons and run.. And then the nightmares began, as if the toothless stranger had stirred up the pool of her emotions and brought her greatest fears to the surface. For several weeks she had been going about in a stupor, sleeping very little in effort to rid herself of her paralyzing dreams. She carried out the tasks assigned to her with little enthusiasm, feeling more like a slave than a revolutionary.

"Another one?" Malky questioned from the shadows.

Elphaba simply nodded.

"We all have our demons," He continued, plopping down beside her.

She didn't respond. Her breathing slowed, the trembling eased. Yet she stared vacantly out into the hazy night, looking defeated.

Malky waited for a long moment before speaking.

"You know…..I am not surprised by much…" He opened the door for confession, for her to spill her horrendous secret like the refuse it was.

Instead, she mused, "I cannot win this. I cannot overpower it nor will it away. I am truly haunted….truly scarred…." The last part was almost a whisper, so that Malky questioned whether or not he'd heard her correctly.

He thought for a moment, and then postulated, "Healing is not an upward climb on a smooth hill. It's a treacherous road, uneven and broken, with just as many valleys as mountains. When we find ourselves in yet another valley, it's hard to see that, although we have fallen, we have moved forward…..if only by a measure…" The Cat trailed off, seeming lost in his own ponderings, perhaps gaining something from his own wisdom.

Elphaba turned sharply. She felt stung, but not negatively. He'd hit the proverbial nail on its head. She rubbed her eyes now, perhaps understanding her misery, yet not enjoying it any more.

"What brought you out of it?" Elphaba asked, in spite of herself. "How have you healed?"

"Time," Malky answered, "and confession," He paused, "Telling the wind is better than telling no one."

Elphaba snorted, because the idea of confession seemed preposterous. Still, the memory of the release she felt in proclaiming she was not a whore swept over her. To make such a claim meant admitting something had indeed happened. She had admitted, unknowingly, that it had been real, and she had claimed some power over it, over her destiny.

"Perhaps your grief is different than mine. Healing from death would be entirely different…" Elphaba threw out her words, with little confidence.

Malky looked at her for a moment, trying to read her expression. "All tragedy is, in effect, a death. There is the death of a person, the death of youth, or of an idea. The death of a dream, or of innocence. Every crime or affliction kills something within us. All suffering is grief, in a way."

Elphaba could not shake off the truth in his words. She did grieve. She grieved the loss of so many things, of what had been unwillingly taken from her. It was indeed a loss. She had been so hollow, at first, so numb. Now the emptiness seemed to be filling with fear, anger and so many other things she could not name. It all threatened to explode, to spill from her without her consent. Deep within her, she knew Malky was right. Like a splinter, whose presence stirs up infection and pain, it would have to come out, eventually. Her hands began to tremble, as she considered her words. She opened her mouth, wanting to confess what Hadrick had done to her, what he had forced her to become.

Instead, she found herself leaning over the side of the bridge, vomiting into the darkness below.

Then, she slumped back onto the stone, drained. Malky approached, finding her crumpled in a heap of black fabric and glistening black hair. She turned her face up toward the moon, and the light reflected off her features, casting them in an opalescent, emerald glow against the ebony backdrop she had created.

"Come," Malky commanded softly, "You need sleep. Confession will come, when there has been enough time…."

Elphaba followed, too weak to argue. She curled up on the cloak and fell into a heavy sleep. A dreamless sleep.

**************************************************

As several more weeks slipped past, the nightmares eased slightly. Elphaba attributed it to the fact that even the beginnings of confession could be cathartic. She attempted, if futilely, to tell Malky just a piece of her story. Each attempt ended the same way, with her losing whatever she'd eaten over the side of the bridge. Yet she slept better, after each try. She supposed it could have just been the fatigue of it all, but she refused to give in that easily.

Her greatest step forward in dealing with her grief was unspoken, but it had been a milestone just the same. It had happened on a muggy evening after another failed attempt at talking to the Malky. For the first time, even if only in her mind, she allowed herself to use the word for what had been done to her.

_Rape._

The word cemented itself in her mind, unwelcome, yet taking root just the same. What had been done to her had a name. Perhaps it didn't make her feel better, but it made her feel less out of control. The horror seemed contained, somehow, in that one word. It was still hideous, agonizing and bitter, but it wasn't all of her anymore. She was starting to put it in its place. Slowly.

Elphaba was lost in these thoughts when she noticed a figure stumbling toward the bridge. It was late summer, and rain pelted both the bridge and the water below. The pent up heat of summer seemed to be released by the drenching rain, rising from the bridge trusses as steam. Elphaba peered through its murkiness, suddenly on alert. She seized the broom, ready to flee. And then she recognized Nyalana.

The dark-skinned girl stumbled into the hollows of the bridge, obviously wounded. Elphaba seized her, taking her weight into her arms and nearly collapsing. She carefully laid her on the stone floor, looking for an obvious injury.

"I….wasn't….followed…" Was all Nyalana could utter.

"Malky," Elphaba snapped, knowing he would be there, "Bandages, cloth, ointment, if there is any."

The Cat understood and ran swiftly, in search of what could be stolen.

Her proximity to another person forgotten in the moment, Elphaba scoured Nyalana's body with her eyes. There was blood, and it seemed to originate from her right side. She tore the garments away from the Winkie girl's arm and right side, where necessary. She couldn't help but preserve her friend's modesty.

There was a large gash deep into the flesh of the right arm, and an equally menacing looking wound just under the ribcage. Elphaba tore a few strips from her dress, only furthering its tattered appearance. She wrapped these tightly around Nyalana's arm and ribcage, stemming the flow of blood.

Time seemed to stand still as she watched the blood saturate the fabric and stain her hands. Red on green. For a moment, she flashed back, remembering her own blood on her hands, and then she shook it off, putting the memory in its place. There was a life to save. This time, she could make good.

Malky returned, panting and exhausted from carrying such a large load. He had managed to pilfer some quality bandages, soaked in antiseptic. He dropped them in Elphaba's lap, and set to licking himself to rid his mouth of the taste.

She unwound the blood-soaked fabric and cast it aside. Painstakingly, she wrapped the bandages around the wounds, and followed with more strips, torn from her dress. She supposed she would be finding patches for that, later.

The sun moved, the hours passed and Elphaba sat, hunched and very still, waiting. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she did not move. Nyalana's breathing slowed, her heart rate calmed. The blood stopped flowing. Elphaba supposed she was either healing, or dying. She didn't have enough training to know which it was.

"Malky," She called as the sun began to set, "I need thread, and a good needle," She looked up at him imploringly, and he scampered off, in spite of his exhaustion.

As darkness fell, the Cat returned, dropping a good spool of thread and a needle at Elphaba's feet. She smiled slightly, gratefully, as he curled wearily into a ball.

Then she set to work. With the Winkie girl lying deathly still, Elphaba willed up everything she'd ever learned in Life Sciences, and began stitching. She sewed the layers of skin and muscle together delicately, trying not to restart the flow of blood. It was agonizing, and lasted well into the night.

After the last stitch, she rewrapped the wounds in bandages and fabric, and collapsed onto the cloak. She could hear Nyalana's slow, yet even breathing beside her. What would have been too close for comfort was necessary as she listened for any change, any indication of a turn for worse.

As dawn broke, after hours of no change, Elphaba's eyes fell shut in exhaustion. Both women slept, side by side, soldiers in the same army.

Malky awoke, and peered down from above, willing healing for both of them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The next several days were a blur for Elphaba. Her sense of time was lost as she kept Nyalana's wounds clean, watched her breathing, and hoped. She hoped for something good, perhaps as some sort of compensation for the guilt she still felt over Frederick's death. Or maybe she just needed to know that she was capable of saving a life, rather than causing grief and pain.

Yet after countless sleepless nights, her ability to stay awake was waning, and she allowed her eyes to close after Nyalana's latest bandage change.

She was awakened some time later by a muffled voice. Elphaba startled and sat up abruptly, looking for someone, anyone. She realized that Nyalana was trying to speak.

Elphaba rose to her knees, and, unsure what to do, she listened.

"Fae?" The Winkie girl's voice was thin and strained, "Fae?"

"I'm here," Was Elphaba's awkward reply. The role of caregiver was as awkward now as it had been with Nessarose.

Nyalana mumbled a few other incoherent things, and fluttered her eyes a little. After several minutes, she opened them, and focused on Elphaba. She didn't speak, but her rich, brown eyes were full of meaning. As they slowly closed once again in sleep, Nyalana reached out and took Elphaba's hand and squeezed it tightly, like a lifeline.

Elphaba did not have the heart, or the lack of heart, to pull away.

**************************************************

"Here," Elphaba offered a week or more hence. She placed a bowl of broth in front of Nyalana, and helped her sit. Using the cloak as padding, the Winkie girl leaned against the stone of the bridge.

"Thank you," Nyalana whispered, eating slowly, yet eagerly.

"You're hungry," Elphaba mused, "I suppose that means you will live." She had meant it merely to be factual, but Nyalana cracked a tiny smile. Elphaba couldn't help but turn up the corner of her mouth in return.

For a moment, the clink of the spoon against the bowl was the only sound. Then Elphaba spoke.

"If there was a battle, I hope there's someone out there who looks worse than you."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" Nyalana questioned.

"I suppose. Although I don't know if I know you well enough to give out compliments," Elphaba answered.

"I don't think compliments require relationship. They're simply good observations."

Elphaba cocked one eyebrow in her customary fashion.

Nyalana set the bowl down for a moment. "I have a compliment for you. I can see that you are strong, maybe to a fault. And you care about people terribly more than you want to, sometimes."

The Winkie girl was alarmingly accurate.

"Well, I couldn't very well have let you die…" Elphaba trailed off, her explanation seeming weak. She shook off the moment and nearly ran over her own words with her next question.

"What happened?" She asked.

Nyalana closed her eyes for a moment, and then answered.

"They…the ARA…had a young Dog tied up just outside the seventh ward…a shepherd, and barely out of puppy hood. The agents were beating him for stepping outside the bounds of the seventh ward, yet it was entirely obvious he was too young to understand. I couldn't take it, and I charged them, hardly thinking that I had no weapon. I at least managed to free the Dog before they nearly impaled me. They left me for dead, and I mostly crawled here. Frederick, and now you, are the only people I know in the city…" She trailed off, as if she needed to explain why she'd come to the bridge.

Elphaba thought for a moment, and Nyalana resumed eating.

"It's horrible," Elphaba mused when she finally spoke, "the things we are capable of doing to one another. It's amazing any of us has survived at all."

The Winkie girl simply nodded in return.

**************************************************

They existed like this as fall began to break summer's hold on the city. The heat began to ease, slightly, and Nyalana grew stronger. Elphaba had become quite the doctor, inspecting, bandaging and suturing as needed. They shared bits and pieces of themselves with each other, being careful not to reveal anything that would compromise them, should one of them be captured.

This day, the Winkie girl stood and walked gingerly around the small, cave-like area, testing her strength. She ran her finger through her braids, scratching at her scalp in irritation. She pulled at what remained of her dress, which was now wrapped, sarong-like, about her hips and breasts.

"I need to bathe," She commented flatly, having regained some sense of vanity with her healing.

Elphaba bristled at the mention of the word, cutting her eyes toward Nyalana as though she had a bucket of water poised and waiting for her.

"We could go together," Nyalana continued, "I know of a place that's empty after dark. There's a broken window. No one would see us."

"I cannot abide water," Elphaba stated with finality, not giving the idea a moment's consideration.

Nyalana simply stared at her for a moment, baffled. "What?"

"I cannot abide water," Elphaba repeated, growing annoyed.

"You cannot abide….? You're afraid of water?"

"I'm not afraid!" Elphaba snapped, whipping around and meeting the Winkie girl's eyes. "I cannot _abide _it. In any way…." She trailed off as she realized she had never explained it before. Eliana had simply known, and understood. Before that, it had been her secret, held close and guarded, lest she be thought of as even more strange.

Nyalana drew herself up to her full height, and met the green girl's eyes. She was tall, and she did not back down. Perhaps that was part of why Elphaba liked her.

"Are you saying to me…that you don't bathe?" Nyalana seemed both horrified, and terribly curious at the same.

"No," Elphaba answered, standing tall, dark, and green, and feeling every bit as exotic and awkward as she looked.

"Then how--" Nyalana started.

Elphaba quickly cut her off.

The Winkie girl was silent for a moment, until curiosity got the best of her.

"You know," She started, "there's not much harm in telling me. You saved my life, after all. And I'm a fugitive, if someone finds me alive. What harm could I do you?"

Elphaba considered, and the overwhelming need for companionship took over. Almost instinctively, she answered before she thought.

"Oil," She sputtered, "I use oil, if I can get it…" She trailed off, suddenly feeling ashamed. She couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

Nyalana simply nodded, unfazed.

**************************************************

Three days later, the Winkie girl disappeared. Elphaba awoke to find her gone, and was surprised at the way her heart constricted. She was continually shocked at the abuse the heart could take, and still continue to feel. Its resilience was both astounding, and perpetually frustrating. It was moments like this that she wished her emotions would die out, harden, and cease to torment her.

She spent the day pacing, mumbling to herself, and refusing Malky's attempts at comfort. She cursed the sun as it moved through the sky, if only in an attempt to fight back the tears that constricted her throat.

She was lost in her own self pity, picking at food and staring at the sunset when a voice nearly startled the very green out of her skin. She leapt to her feet and whirled around to find Nyalana.

"Where in Oz name have you been?!" Elphaba shrieked, her relief and surprise mixing to form a volatile emotion.

"I went to find—" Nyalana started, but Elphaba cut her off.

"I thought…I mean I've spent the whole day….I can't believe that you would just…." Elphaba's words were erratic, her emotions running higher than usual. She tugged at her hair in the discomfort at having to feel so much.

The Winkie girl seemed to understand, but she didn't reply. She simply pressed the bottle of oil she carried into one slender, green hand, and led her manic friend out into the night.

Elphaba protested at first, and insisted on getting her hat. But in her relief and fatigue she, somewhat unwillingly, allowed herself to be led into the city. Nyalana cut a winding path, sticking to the shadows. It was a dance they both knew all too well, and they were fluid partners. Elphaba panicked, however, when Nyalana led her to the back of a bathhouse and salon, a place where the wealthy went to be pampered and made over.

She stopped, dug in her heels, and would not move.

"Fae…." Nyalana looked her straight in the eyes, not backing away from the wildness in their depths, "You have to trust me."

_Trust._ She didn't. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

Elphaba turned to run.

"Fae!" The Winkie girl called after her, "What do you have to lose?"

_Nothing. Everything. _Elphaba stopped. She considered. What could she lose that she had not already lost? It was a strange sense of resolution, but when your greatest fears have already come true, there is less to fear.

She followed Nyalana into the bathhouse, her eyes darting back and forth. The Winkie girl led her deep inside, past all sorts of fancy tubs and pools that were part of a world of which Elphaba could not partake. Finally, Nyalana pushed back a curtain, and motioned Elphaba into a small room. There was a bench, a rudimentary mirror of polished metal, and a hook.

"It's a changing room, for the baths. But I thought…." Nyalana trailed off as she indicated the bottle of oil in Elphaba's hand.

Elphaba understood her meaning, and yet flicked her eyes back and forth, fearing intruders.

Nyalana withdrew a blade from her shoe, which seemed too large to have been hidden there. "I'll be right here," She reassured, "and I'm a revolutionist. I'd die before I'd let anyone in there."

The proof was in Nyalana's scars. Elphaba accepted the offer with a slight nod, and entered the small room. She pulled the heavy curtain closed behind her, and found it quite dark. She mumbled a few words, reaching back to sorcery class and managing to conjure up a small light in the empty lantern.

She tied her hair up tightly, and pulled off her boots, then the socks she wore instead of stockings. She stripped off the dress, which was badly in need of repair after having been pilfered for fabric to cover Nyalana's wounds. The makeshift undergarments came off last, and she stood naked.

How long had it been since she had been completely without clothes? Months, she guessed. Elphaba worked quickly with the oil, enjoying its scent, the smooth feeling of it. Yet she would not look at herself. She turned her back toward the makeshift mirror and studied her own hands, instead of her body. Her nudity seemed painful, shameful and full of vile memories. She could not look at herself without seeing the sexuality that had been forced on her. Still, the oil was glorious, cleansing and soothing. It was a complex, contradictory experience. She was glad when it was over, despite how much better she felt, physically.

"Put this on," Nyalana flipped a garment over the curtain, and it landed at Elphaba's feet.

She picked it up, and found a long, slender garment. It was dark and sleeveless, and felt altogether foreign. It was surely of Winkie origin, probably from the depths of the Vinkus. Still, she put it on, if only because the oil on her skin was still moist.

Elphaba slid the curtain open, and the pin came loose from her hair, sending it tumbling over her shoulders. As she reached to catch the hairpin, she heard someone inhale sharply, and caught sight of the Gorilla standing behind Nyalana.

"Sweet Oz!" The Animal gasped at the sight of Elphaba, and the green girl waited for the usual reaction.

"Nyalana, she's…….beautiful," The Gorilla finished, paradoxically.

There was a strange silence, as all of Elphaba's usual sarcastic comments were lost. She opened her mouth, but no words emerged.

"And this hair," The Gorilla, who proved to be female, continued. She seemed not to realize she was only the second person to use the word 'beautiful' in the presence of the green girl. "What absolutely beautiful hair!" She ran large, dark fingers through it, separating the tangles with practiced fingers.

"Come with me," The Gorilla instructed, and Elphaba was still too shocked to argue.

The Animal took the magicked lantern and led them to another room, filled with chairs. The Gorilla set Elphaba down and set to work on her hair, washing, detangling, brushing, all the while marveling and calling the strands "spun onyx."

As the Gorilla worked, Nyalana rambled off an explanation about having met the Animal early in her days in the city. She had been a hairdresser, forced from her job by the Banns. Now, Nyalana and the Animal did for each other, gave each other a measure of protection. Yet Elphaba barely heard her.

She was clean, she was not feared, and her whole body was soothed by the strong hands of this Animal, blessed with opposable thumbs. For the first time, perhaps in her entire lifetime, Elphaba felt like a woman. And it felt good.

**************************************************

Elphaba sat, blissful, while the Gorilla, whose name turned out to be Sambwa, worked with Nyalana's hair. Unbraided, it turned out to be long, black and coarse. The Gorilla worked more oil through it, until it shone.

"You should leave it unbraided…" Elphaba posed, her guard lowered enough to postulate such frivolous things.

Nyalana shook her head as Sambwa began to twist it into complex braids.

"It doesn't have the texture of yours. It would be hopelessly matted within days."

Elphaba nodded and raised her hand to touch her almost-dry mane. She wondered, if the Gorilla's opinion was indeed true, why nature had seen fit to frame such an unusual, awkward, often repulsive face, with such beauty.

She shook it off, unable to accept that nature, or the Unamed God, or Lurline herself, had any real plans for her. So many things about her remained an anomaly.

As she and Nyalana left the bathhouse, Elphaba reached out and took the Gorilla's hand and squeezed. She looked into her deep-set, dark eyes and tried to convey gratitude. Sambwa nodded slightly, and shooed them on their way. Elphaba hoped sincerely that she would see her again.

She and Nyalana walked in tandem, with the Winkie girl making sure they were not seen. Elphaba carried her dress, still wearing the strange garment Nyalana had given her. They stopped only to pilfer some cloth, discarded behind a tailor's shop. Their goods in hand, they quickly fled back to the bridge.

Exhausted, they both fell into a heavy sleep, as dawn broke over the horizon.

**************************************************

A handful of days later, they sat cross-legged, sewing intently, as a crisp, unusually cool fall breeze threatened to blow the fabric from their laps. Malky was quite the successful thief, given his small stature and perception as an animal. He'd managed to bring them several spools of thread and some needles. Now that Nyalana had healed sufficiently enough, they turned the needles on their clothes.

"Ouch!" Elphaba exclaimed, her mood growing fouler as she stabbed herself for what must have been the thousandth time.

"I was never all that domestic…" She grumbled, as she sewed another strip of fabric into the skirt of her dress. It had become quite patchwork-looking, as none of the fabric they'd managed to steal quite matched the black of the dress. Yet it was a well-made garment, and she wasn't quite ready to give it up. It had also been a gift, from the doctor who still felt so father-like, when she allowed herself to think of him.

"It's either this," Nyalana replied, "or we risk going about naked."

Elphaba stopped and looked up. Seeing the Winkie girl's half-smile, she turned up the corner of her mouth. She could appreciate the joke, today.

After a long moment of silence, Nyalana finally spoke.

"Do you know…" She asked haltingly, "….what happened to Frederick?"

In a way she'd come to expect, Elphaba's heart constricted. She took a deep breath, stemming the sharp retorts that immediately rose to her lips. Sarcasm wouldn't change what happened, and couldn't erase the pain. This time, she'd try things Malky's way.

"They shot him," She answered simply, her voice thin, "the ARA. They shot him."

"Why?" Nyalana asked after a moment.

"He was protesting the killing of an Animal. I didn't…" She started, "I didn't see it happen. But I saw him…dead."

Nyalana didn't question further, seeming content with the story, simple as it was. After a few minutes of silent sewing, she added, "He was a good man. He deserved better."

Elphaba nodded.

"Yes he was," She whispered.

And for Elphaba, she felt as though she had paid her respects, at last.

**************************************************

At some point in the ensuing weeks, they had both accepted that Nyalana would make the bridge her permanent residence. It was a silent agreement, a wordless fact. They both knew it was dangerous. Having two members of the Resistance in one place made them vulnerable, and made them dependent in a way neither wanted to admit. Yet for Elphaba, it seemed very much worth the risk. They knew almost nothing of each other, yet they owed each other so much. Nyalana was making Elphaba stronger, healing her and increasing her passion for the mission they shared. If eventual death was the price of their friendship, Elphaba decided her renewed enthusiasm was worth it. She would rather go down in a blaze of fire, than fade away like a guttering candle, too afraid to shine.

As the chill of fall swept over the city, they walked one afternoon, hoping to pilfer some fruit or bread from a careless vendor. Nyalana had completed a rather risky mission, and Elphaba felt the city's newspapers would most likely be proclaiming the death of another of the Wizard's closest advisors in the next few days. Neither of them would discuss the details of their assignments, but Elphaba knew the packages they delivered and the locations they revealed surely had deadly consequences.

She wouldn't focus on it today. Instead, she turned her attention to the cart of vegetables in front her, waiting for the vendor to busy herself with chasing away the stray dogs who loitered, hoping for bits of anything.

Elphaba was ready to make her move, when something caught her eye, a flurry of black, followed by the unmistakable snap of an explosive arming itself. It was a sound she knew well, having used them several times since she'd set the fire in the printing press. She scanned the street, and her eyes landed on a group of Gale Force officers, their weapons slung over their shoulders as they looked for any illegal Animal activity.

Elphaba's eyes fell on the small vial, lying unnoticed at their feet. She had only enough time to pull Nyalana and the vegetable vendor into an alley before the vial exploded. Knocked off their feet, they brushed themselves off, stunned.

Elphaba quickly pulled her hat back over her face, fearing the vendor's reaction. She left Nyalana to help the woman up as she scanned the scene, her mind on more than just the injured soldiers. They were injured, certainly, but it did not look as though the blast had been fatal.

Elphaba's sharp eyes scoured her surroundings, finally coming to rest on a ledge some ten feet off the ground, in the shadows of the alley. She locked eyes with the animal, searching the wide, green eyes. And then she saw it, the spark of intelligence, the ability to think and feel.

The Cat realized it, too, and ran, with Elphaba sprinting behind. The Animal was fast, and could leap effortlessly, but it took a wrong turn, and trapped itself in a dead end street. With nothing but smooth stone rising around them, they faced each other wordlessly.

The Cat hissed, its fur on end.

"Oh hush," Elphaba spat, "we both know you can speak."

The Animal let out a low growl, and Elphaba swept it up by its scruff in one swift motion. She took in the emerald eyes, the jet-black fur, and the unmistakable intelligence in the Animal's eyes.

"This is quite undignified," The Cat conceded her ability to speak, and also revealed that she was female. "If you're going to torture me, save the trouble. I'll die before I'll confess."

"I don't want to torture you," Elphaba threw out as she carried the Cat back toward the bridge, "I think I know your father."

They were both silent for the journey.

**************************************************

Elphaba hurried quickly through the streets, her heart pounding at the possibility of what she had discovered. Malky had done so much for her, mostly just by being who he was. She longed for a way to repay him, and, if indeed she truly held his daughter, she could ease his suffering somewhat. Then, there was the added benefit of knowing she had undone a little of what the Banns were seeking to accomplish. By reuniting this Animal family, she could take some of their power. What they had tried to destroy, she would repair.

"Why should I trust you?" The Cat needled as they approached the bridge. "How could you know anything about my father?"

"Because I'm the one holding you by the neck right now," Elphaba snapped. She had never been one to find much virtue in patience.

As they ducked into the bowels of the bridge, Elphaba scanned the trusses, looking for a flash of white in the shadows. She cursed silently to herself as she found Malky to be absent.

"Could you kindly put me down now?" The Cat had an edge in her voice.

"How do I know you won't run?" Elphaba was skeptical.

"How do I know that you know anything about my father?" The Cat snapped back.

"Because he lives here," Elphaba's tone was exasperated. Still, out of respect, she dropped the Animal onto the stone floor, where she landed softly.

"How do I know you don't plan to kill me? Or hold me ransom?"

"Because the Resistance doesn't pay ransom," Elphaba retorted.

"I don't know what you're talking about," The Cat replied, her face blank, her eyes fierce.

"Doesn't matter. I know what I'm talking about, and I know I'm right."

"Then what is my father's name?"

"Malky. Malkavese," Elphaba answered, locking her own sharp eyes with the Cat's.

They stared at each other, reaching a stalemate. They were reflections of each other, both of them dark and wild and unstoppable. Neither looked away, until a voice broke their feud.

"Zaar?"

Malky stood in a band of afternoon sun, just inside the cavern. The black Cat turned, taking in the other Animal.

"Papa?" Her voice was high and thin now, as though she had dropped the mask of revolution.

Malky approached slowly, stunned. He stopped just in front of the other Cat, studying her, as though he were memorizing her.

"You are truly Zaar?" He asked in disbelief.

She nodded slowly.

"Your mother is…..was Nisa?"

Zaar nodded again.

"How is this possible?" Malky's gaze turned back to Elphaba, looking as vulnerable as she'd ever seen him as he searched her emerald face for answers.

"We ran into each other……somewhat," Elphaba replied, attempting a smile for Malky's benefit.

"I never imagined…..I mean I hoped…" Malky stumbled over his words, "…but I never really thought that…."

"I thought you were dead…" Zaar threw out, her voice catching. She studied Malky intently for a few moments. "They killed Mama. They killed everyone…" She trailed off, the horror of it all creeping into her voice.

"I know," Malky whispered, "I know."

"I thought you would find me," Zaar stated, sounding somewhat pleading.

"I tried…" Malky tried to reassure, "…oh how I tried…."

They were silent for a moment, both of them unsure of how to proceed.

Malky finally broke the silence.

"You've grown up…" His voice was soft and sentimental.

Elphaba saw the mist form over Zaar's eyes, saw her swallow over the tears and fight back the emotion. She could see the revolutionist in her fighting against the scared Kitten who had run so bravely, so long ago. Elphaba had never felt such a connection to another being as she did in that moment. Never had she felt such compassion, such empathy. And, because of that, she knew exactly what Zaar needed in that moment.

Elphaba cleared her throat.

"We should eat," She cut into the tense silence, "and Nyalana must be wondering where I disappeared to."

"I'll find her," Zaar offered, "if you can scrounge up some food." There was gratefulness in her wide, green eyes. Yet she turned back, before leaving. "I'll be back soon," She met Malky's eyes.

"I'll be right here," He answered softly.

**************************************************

Later that night, after Nyalana had treated them to the feast she had procured in the chaos after the explosion, Elphaba sat with Malky. Zaar had left, giving only a vague explanation, but promised to return. Elphaba was certain she was on business related to the Resistance, and hoped for her safety.

"You did a good thing today," Malky spoke softly, swishing his tail over the side of the bridge in the thick night.

"I suppose," Elphaba answered, studying her hands.

"I told you once that you are not who you think you are. I don't think you really understood. So let me tell you who you are," Malky's voice was strong, and full of meaning, "You are strong, fierce and full of conviction. You love wholly and completely, even if the only thing you think you love is your cause. You care, more than most anyone has the strength to care. You are made of something more durable and pure than I can name. You are immeasurably good, if you will allow yourself to be."

Elphaba felt something catch in her throat at the word _pure._ She felt anger mixed with many, many tears. She fixated on the anger, because it stemmed the tears. "Perhaps I just fall into good deeds by chance. I didn't look for Zaar. And I am far from pure. I am the antithesis of the word," She threw out her words, finding that her chest ached from the feelings Malky had dredged up.

"Your conviction is pure. Your love for what is right is pure. What else matters?" Malky posed.

At that, perhaps because the anger held back her fear and nausea, Elphaba's words came tumbling out.

"I am used! I am dirty and discarded and…..and labeled a whore! Good couldn't stand my presence! Good flees from me! I simply fall into the right place at the right time, on occasion! I am wickedness brought to life! You see!" She thrust her hands outward, "It's so prevalent it has stained my skin! Why else should someone be green, unless they bear all the wickedness of the world?"

Malky stared at her for a long time, understanding that most anything he could say would come across as trite, and would not heal her suffering. Finally, he spoke.

"Now you've said it. You've said it out loud. Now you can start to cast it away from you, rid yourself of it, and see the purity that lies underneath," He turned to crawl back under the bridge, leaving her with the star-spotted night.

Elphaba sat for a long time, listening to the steadily lapping water, the rustling breeze, and her own breathing. She thought of Malky, of Nyalana, and now Zaar. If there was a picture of goodness, surely they were it. The bravery, courage and stamina seeped from them. Not to mention the wisdom bestowed on Malky, in quantities Elphaba had never found in human or Animal. In spite of herself, she supposed if there was any hope for her own healing, Malky would be the catalyst for it. He almost made her believe there was, indeed, goodness within her.

When she crawled back into the caverns of the bridge, she caught sight of Malky curled up tightly, with Zaar encircled next to him, their paws entwined. Elphaba smiled her strange, half-smile. She had made good, something tangibly good. And as she fell asleep, she thought she might have left just a little of her pain outside, cast into the night with her words.

_I am not a whore,_ She repeated to herself over and over as she fell asleep. Perhaps, in time, she could believe it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Winter, and thus the season of Lurelinemas, came on fast and hard in the Emerald City. It was a relief for Elphaba, who kept herself cloaked and shrouded nearly all the time. She could only take so much of the insufferable heat of summer. It was harder on Nyalana, who was used to the short, bitter winters, and the intense, dry mountain sunshine of the Vinkus. The wet, heavy winter that slowly overshadowed them had forced the Winkie girl to find more suitable clothing. Oddly enough, she had taken to pilfering men's clothing and altering it to fit. She could manage it, without turning heads, with her complicated braids and exotically patterned skin. Out of their own ignorance and fear of the unknown, no one questioned her gender. Or no one cared.

And then there was Zaar, who seemed to give them all renewed strength. The harder Elphaba looked, the more she could see the scars that crisscrossed the Animal's body. One in particular, across the bridge of her nose, was barely concealed by her dark fur. She was missing the tip of one ear, if one looked closely. The Cat had told bits and pieces of her tale, being careful not to reveal too much. It was filled with horrors, and yet Zaar's voice only trembled slightly with emotion. When she talked of her hardships, Malky would listen, and then place a paw on her back and lick her face and ears. It was an altogether feline thing to do, but Zaar would smile slightly, and look content.

Their relationship amazed Elphaba, though she hid it well. Until one dark, misty evening when they sat together, the four of them, while Zaar told of more tragedy and abuse.

The words were out of Elphaba's mouth before she could stop them, "Does it not…haunt you? Doesn't it….hurt?" Elphaba averted her eyes quickly, wishing desperately that she had kept silent.

Zaar cocked her head sideways in a gesture that was completely Malky's. "Yes," Zaar finally answered, "but I am loved," She looked toward Malky, "Knowing that one person, in a world of hatred, truly loves me, is enough. Love heals a multitude of scars."

**************************************************

_Love heals a multitude of scars._

It was that phrase that was running through Elphaba's head as she made her way through the crowded city streets one night some time hence. She was heavily cloaked, and she kept her eyes off the faces of the shoppers and tourists who filled the sidewalks. Lurelinemas had all but exploded over the city, covering every surface in green and gold. The sparkle and light were almost overwhelming. It was a frenzied spectacle, with mixed ideas on what exactly everyone was celebrating.

Elphaba had just delivered an important letter, and she had trekked nearly five miles around the city. She was tired and starting to feel chilled to the bone, when she stopped suddenly in her tracks. Just ahead of her, spilling out onto the sidewalk in a halo of pink fabric and whimsical laughter, was Galinda Upland. Or Glinda. She tossed her head back and let out a peal of musical laughter and clutched the arm of the woman next to her. To Elphaba, they seemed to move in slow motion as Glinda pulled her winter wrap tightly around her small frame, and checked her curls deftly with one delicately gloved hand.

Elphaba's breath caught as she realized how close they were. She was surprised at how strong the urge was to reach out and touch her. It seemed that to touch Glinda would take her back, to a time when things were simpler, when right and wrong were more clearly defined. She snapped back into the present as Glinda threw a glance over her shoulder, perhaps feeling the invisible cord that connected her to the green girl. Elphaba pulled herself into the shadows as she caught a glimpse of the glittering diamond on Glinda's left hand. An aching feeling welled up in her as she realized that girlhood was gone, for both of them. The world had not stood still through Elphaba's torment, or the subsequent journey. Glinda was loved, cherished, and taken, a beautiful bubble in the sea of humanity around her. And Elphaba was still green, and quite jaded, with no prospects for love.

She watched Glinda disappear into the crowd, suddenly feeling the cold. Elphaba shivered, and scurried away with her long skirts swirling around her.

When she reached the bridge, she mumbled something about her fatigue to her companions, and curled up beneath her cloak to sleep. However, her mind seemed ill at ease as it tripped and stumbled over what she had seen.

_Love heals a multitude of scars_.

Zaar's words ate at her. That night, she had seen physical evidence that her peers were married, coupling off or finding their purpose in important jobs. They had graduated, and life had moved on, for them. For Elphaba, there was just emptiness. She was trying to heal. She had begun to peel away the label of _whore. _There were times she even cast it aside and refused to carry it. Yet, there was emptiness. Malky, Zaar, and Nyalana all had their places in her heart, filling up the vastness within her with hope, yet she was still in need. She longed for something unnamed, yet at the same time shoved it aside as ridiculous.

_Love heals a multitude of scars._

It wouldn't leave her mind. It was stuck, like thick, quoxwood sap, to her insides. If someone dared to look into Elphaba's eyes, they would see her great need, so vast and deep it seemed unquenchable. Yet she fell asleep alone, untouched, afraid to give the need a name. Afraid it was impossible. Afraid that no one had that much love, to erase the scars within her.

**************************************************

Lurelinemas eve was upon them suddenly, bringing the city to a fevered pitch, and then suddenly calming as children tried to sleep in anticipation of gifts and candies. Zaar trotted wearily back under the bridge that night, having spent most of her day at a benefit for the Wizard, gathering information. Nyalana couldn't stifle a giggle as the Cat appeared in the moonlight.

She sported a most festive holiday collar, made of fabric beaded in green and gold, and decorated with a little sparkle. She gave Nyalana a withering look, and then met the curious stares of Malky and Elphaba.

"Some vile, pretentious old crones dressed me up for the holiday," She spat, "and how could I refuse? I had to keep up the ruse of being merely animal. So I sat there and wore the ridiculous collar."

"The things we go through for our cause…" Elphaba drawled, finding her mouth twitching in a slight smile.

"I think it's quite precious," Malky interjected.

"Of course you do, father," Zaar sighed, yet she made no effort to remove it. She had been given a thing of beauty, and aside from the demeaning nature of the gift, it did give her eyes more of a sparkle.

Elphaba changed the subject, finding that she understood. Zaar deserved to feel a little beauty. They all did, once in a while.

Later that night, while the two Cats exchanged trinkets they had found for their first Lurelinemas together in many years, Nyalana approached Elphaba. She found the green woman looking down into the water, black as night, churning below them.

"I'm not sure why I chose to live here," Elphaba spoke suddenly, before Nyalana could speak. "The water would kill me, should I accidentally fall……or jump."

"Yet you haven't," The Winkie girl pondered.

Elphaba didn't respond as she stared out into the night.

Nyalana pulled something from her trouser pocket and fingered it carefully. "I….I have something for you," She spoke hesitantly.

Elphaba's head snapped toward her, unsure of her meaning.

Nyalana held up a delicate, beaded pin in shades of black. It shimmered in the moonlight, despite its dark color. When Elphaba looked closely, she could see a winged creature, carefully crafted in beads and shining stones. Nyalana swiftly pinned it at Elphaba's neck, just under her collar. It rested beautifully there, accenting the darkness of her dress.

Elphaba started to protest, but Nyalana stopped her.

"Butterflies are creatures of freedom, but they work terribly hard for that freedom. They aren't born with wings. They must crawl on their bellies through the dirt, and find their way out of the depths of a chrysalis before they can fly. They work for their freedom, but in the end, they fly," Nyalana turned to leave, and then looked back, "And caterpillars, mostly, are green."

Elphaba fingered the pin, looking into Nyalana's dark eyes and struggling with her words. Finally, she looked out into the night and stated in a voice choked with tears,

"I am not a whore."

"No," Nyalana whispered, without hesitation or surprise, "you are not."

With that, Nyalana disappeared into the shadows, and Elphaba found herself furiously wiping away the tears before they could sting her. Yet she smiled, as she was not entirely sure they were tears of sadness.

**************************************************

On the heels of Lurelinemas came snow. Great, blowing drifts of it covered the city, hiding the dirt and grime beneath a layer of glistening white. It seemed, to Elphaba, a commentary on how nature could cover the sins of humanity.

She sat, wrapped in black with her head bowed under her hat, in a shadowy pub. She checked the rusted clock in the corner, growing more concerned with every chime. Nyalana was late.

A spark of fear began to grow in Elphaba's stomach, radiating out until she had to clutch her fingers together to keep them from trembling. Frederick's death was still very fresh and real in her mind. Perhaps more now than then, she didn't want to see her fellow soldier fallen. She didn't want to lose her friend.

_Friend._

The word stuck in her mind, causing a warm feeling within her. She fingered the pin at her neck, and swallowed over the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. She pleaded silently with any god who was listening, asking that she not lose her friend.

Elphaba let out a ragged breath as the door creaked open, and a gust of wind blew Nyalana into the pub. She shuffled over to the dark corner where Elphaba sat, and slipped into the chair just across the table. Elphaba grasped Nyalana's hands instinctively, then quickly pulled away, surprised at what she had done. Still, her eyes were dark pools of concern.

"Something is wrong," Elphaba stated, her tone certain.

Nyalana seemed momentarily stunned by Elphaba's unexpected gesture. She appeared to consider reaching out for the green woman's slender hand again, before rubbing her own palms together to warm them instead.

"I was followed," Nyalana began, "from the factory and nearly all the way here. I almost didn't lose them."

Elphaba considered for a moment. "Do you know by whom?"

"A security officer. I don't think it was Gale Force. But I don't know what he saw." Nyalana answered.

"Did he see your face?"

"I don't think so."

"Was the mission successful?"

"I don't think they'll be producing any more meat for quite some time."

Nyalana's mouth curved up in a slight smile at that, finding she was unable to conceal her great satisfaction at the accomplishment.

Elphaba smiled, ever so slightly, but without the usual wry sarcasm that lurked in her eyes. Nyalana was struck at how it lit up her face, took the edge out of the green, and brightened her eyes. She was distracted for a moment, wishing the world could see this side of Fae.

Elphaba broke the spell. "Do you think he could recognize you?" She asked, now serious.

"Most likely not, but I am somewhat unique. I must have been clearly Winkie to him. That gives him an edge," Nyalana answered.

Elphaba considered for a moment, first studying her hands, and then the cracked and faded walls.

"I think it's time we moved…" She finally proposed, meeting the Winkie girl's eyes.

"Moved?" Nyalana raised an eyebrow.

"I think it's dangerous….all of us living together. If they find one, they find us all. We should spread out, divide and conquer," Elphaba threw out the last statement with a touch of pride, perhaps seeing the potential they all had.

Nyalana nodded, agreeing most wholeheartedly. She thought for a moment, then added, "You know…if we had a fourth, we could be a cell. We could accomplish much…"

Elphaba snapped her head up, meeting Nyalana's eyes and trying to understand her meaning. "A cell?" She questioned.

The Winkie girl nodded. "A cell. Four of us, all willing to die for the others. We could work together."

Elphaba considered this for several long moments. The purpose of it sent a chill up and down her spine. She wanted this, with a fervor she hadn't felt in a long time. It made her feel alive, and dangerously important. It felt good to want something.

"Who would be the fourth?" She questioned Nyalana, "Surely we can't pick someone arbitrarily."

"No, but we'll find them. Someone who has been cast aside, someone isolated who doesn't show fear. Someone who has no one else."

"What about Malky?" Elphaba proposed.

Nyalana simply raised her eyebrows in uncertainty.

**************************************************

Malky flatly refused.

"I have fought my battles," He reiterated, "This is a fight for those younger and braver than I."

Unable to change his mind, Elphaba, Nyalana and Zaar set about finding new residences. The word 'residence' was used loosely.

Zaar had wholeheartedly agreed that they were at tremendous risk, all sleeping under the bridge. As for Malky, he was determined to stay with Zaar, in spite of any risk. She filled his heart, and the prospect of separation from her seemed more terrifying than death.

So Elphaba found herself combing the Emerald City, searching for any place she could call home for a time.

Weeks passed, and she grew frustrated, finding no suitable place after walking what felt like hundreds of miles around the great green city. She had stumbled upon her share of homeless vagrants and staggering drunkards, all occupying any vacant building she happened to find.

And then…she found it, deep within the poorest section of the 7th ward. Most humans wouldn't venture that far into the Animal sector and the closest neighbors were Animals scrounging to make an existence in the depths of poverty.

It was an abandoned corn exchange, which seemed to have been left suddenly. There was still evidence of a violent struggle, with tables scattered and the remains of grains littering the floor. Overshadowing the disarray was the eerie form of an Elephant, dead and decomposed to its bones. Its body lay sprawled over the vast expanse of the first floor of the exchange. Upstairs, after maneuvering the steep and narrow stairway, Elphaba found its skull, hung precariously from the rafters. She stood for a long time, not so much horrified as paying her respects. She wondered at the atrocity that must have befallen the Animal.

And so she sat, after giving the cavernous space a good cleaning, and stared at the skull. She would fall asleep to it each night, allowing it to watch over her, to remind her. This was what she was fighting for. For every Animal who had given its life, who had unfairly died, who had never grown up, who had never spoken. They were her cause, her passion. Perhaps being so immersed in it would allow her to forget her needs, to live alone, untouched. She would be the green woman who cared so deeply, yet seemed destined to die alone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Elphaba was exhausted. She sat, her skirts crumpled around her, on the floor of the corn exchange. Her hair was wildly disarrayed, her face smudged with dust. She still had not been able to scrub the old building completely clean. She supposed the remains of the grains had found their way into every crack and crevice, and gave off their own sort of dust. She found it also attracted mice, some of them Mice. They weren't a troublesome bunch, and she couldn't find it in her heart to clean up the mess they considered food.

Elphaba scratched at her head, her hair long overdue for a washing. Her eyes began to cross and lose focus as she stared at the ancient page before her. Sorcery had never been her specialty. True, there was a sort of power that seemed to reside in her. It would rise up and almost overtake her, making her fingers tingle. But how to harness even a measure of that power was proving elusive. She could read the spells, she could decipher far more than she expected, but to weave them together usefully was entirely different. She sighed and leaned back, resting her head against the rough, wooden wall.

Elphaba much preferred the sciences, finding understanding the world and its inhabitants much easier. She was especially transfixed by the ideas she'd found in one cracked and peeling leather book. It delved into the building blocks of the world, what allowed anything to exist at all. She had to reach to the far corners of her intellect to grasp the concepts it proposed, but it seemed to postulate that there could be something beyond. Beyond what, she had yet to discover, but beyond. Or perhaps, very near to the world she knew, but very different. Perhaps a land that was almost Oz, yet not, like looking into to a different pane of a multifaceted mirror. It made her wonder if her green coloring might be a trick of some cosmic light, brought on because she'd bent the very laws of physics and time. Perhaps she'd simply been born in entirely the wrong world.

It made her head hurt, and Elphaba rubbed her temples, hoping to soothe the pounding. She forced her eyes to focus on the faded page once again, and repeated the levitation spell. Then she looked up at the broom.

Nothing.

She slammed the book shut and cursed it.

"Three days worth of levitation spells…..three days…..and nothing!" She mumbled to herself.

She could start a fire, which pleased her. She could create plumes of smoke, and even create some apparitions, if only for a moment. But nothing she tried would make the broom fly. Nothing. It almost made her consider lighting the whole stack of books on fire with her combustion spell.

Yet she didn't. Instead, Elphaba went for a walk. She changed into the unusual dress Nyalana had given her, and left the corn exchange with her other, bulky dress in hand. This was the one shining spot in her world. She had found that deep within the Animal Ward, the creatures were a vast array of colors, from calico, to deep black and amber, to the scaly green. To them, Elphaba was just another Animal. She had carefully learned that she could walk the few streets near her home free from cloaks and heavy skirts. And, as she had slowly realized, the Gale Force wasn't searching for a green girl. The green girl was dead. As a member of the Resistance, she was a heavily cloaked woman who wore a pointy hat. It was a glorious contradiction.

So she made her way a few blocks over to the ramshackle storefront where Sambwa made her home. The Gorilla lived in near poverty, yet she did for Elphaba with great generosity. With her great, soothing hands, she washed the black mane of hair that now fell below Elphaba's waist. She washed her garments and gave her any oils she could find on her trips to the markets in Southcity. It made Elphaba think that perhaps it was Animals who deserved to run the Land of Oz. Mankind had proven very unworthy.

After a thorough washing, and leaving her dress with Sambwa, she was making her way back toward the corn exchange. Her hair tumbled long and full around her when she stopped abruptly in her tracks. Elphaba skittered back into the shadows of a nearby building and watched the scene unfolding before her. The Gale Force had ventured quite far into the Seventh Ward, and their shouting had sent most of the Animals scurrying into their homes and businesses.

The soldiers had a young Quadling man trapped in the midst of them. He clutched a Dog, trying to wrap his body around it protectively. The soldiers whipped him repeatedly, drawing up large welts on his back. They hit him squarely across the back with large sticks and the butts of the guns they carried. One of them made to strike him across the temple, but he dodged them and took the blow to his shoulder. The soldiers yelled obscenities, yet the young man refused to be moved.

Elphaba felt rage build up in her, filling to the point that she thought it might explode. Adrenaline coursed through her, and this time, she tried to control it. Concentrating the power in her hands, she willed it forward.

She was knocked backward off her feet, and she clamored to see what she had managed to do. The Gale Force soldiers lay several yards from the Quadling, and seemed to be unconscious. They looked to all be in one piece, but none were moving. Elphaba darted forward and seized the surprised young man by his arm. She half-drug him and the Dog back to Sambwa's shop, where she promptly collapsed on the floor.

**************************************************

Elphaba came to with a great sense of something being wrong. Not particularly bad, but wrong. As the world above her came into focus, she realized she was looking into two very confused faces. One of them was ruddy and full, with wild auburn hair and small, brown eyes. The other was canine, with the striking, brown and black markings of a Shepherd. A third face appeared, and she relaxed at the sight of the Gorilla. Sambwa sat her up, making sure Elphaba's world had stopped spinning, and place some fruit juice in her hand.

Then, the Gorilla turned her attention to the Quadling boy. Fussing over him like an overprotective grandparent, she laid him down on the nearest table and began to treat his wounds. The Dog looked on, silently, with his tail curled around his large paws.

"Sweet Lurline…how did you get yourself into this mess?" Sambwa questioned as she removed his tattered shirt and dipped some cloth into an antiseptic solution. "Lucky for you….these wounds are mostly superficial. Tough skin, you Quadlings have."

The young man kept his face on his arms. From experience, Elphaba remembered that Quadlings weren't much for chatting. She turned her attention to the Dog, and a spark of familiarity struck her.

_A Shepherd…_

Her mind raced backward.

_A Shepherd just outside the Seventh Ward…..Nyalana…_

The memories came flooding back. Nyalana's wounded body, and her brave struggle to save a Dog. But the coincidence seemed impossible.

"What is your name?" Elphaba addressed the Animal.

He studied her for a moment before answering.

"Besnik."

"Were you attacked…as a puppy? Not long ago…just outside the Animal Ward?" Elphaba's question was direct, because she knew no other way.

The Dog merely nodded, still quite wary of the strange, green woman who questioned him.

"You owe your life to this young man, and he, in turn, owes his to me. Can you do something I ask, on that merit alone?" Elphaba's looked directly into the Shepherd's eyes, a gesture she knew signified respect.

Again, the Dog merely nodded.

"Go to St. Glinda's, on the North side. Wait for a Winkie girl who answers to Nyalana. Bring her here," She ordered calmly, "and do not speak. To anyone."

The Dog understood and nodded before dashing out the door.

Elphaba turned her attention to Sambwa.

"Can he stay here?" She asked, gesturing toward the patient.

The Gorilla considered.

"I suppose," She answered, "briefly. Someone is sure to come hunting him soon enough."

Elphaba nodded and took her leave.

She made her way back to the corn exchange, picking a careful path through the darkest and poorest streets. The Gale Force officers couldn't have seen her, but she was cautious all the same. She climbed the stairs wearily, finding her eyelids were quite heavy as they struggled against three days without sleep. She collapsed onto the bedroll and slept, allowing her subconscious to wonder what role the Quadling would play.

**************************************************

She returned to Sambwa's daily, finding the young man in much better spirits each time. He was mostly quiet and helped readily with chores, yet his eyes were intelligent. None of them asked his story, until the third day.

On the third morning, Elphaba found Nyalana in the small shop, with the Dog at her side. Her dark eyes were extremely curious as she took in the Quadling, Elphaba, and the Gorilla.

"I have nothing to tell," Elphaba began, "He does. I just asked you to come here to hear it with me," She paused, "I thought the two of them might be….useful."

The Dog seemed slightly afraid at the word 'useful'.

Nyalana turned to the young man, and studied him. "What is your name?"

He set aside the broom he had been using and addressed her.

"Sun."

"Very Quadling…." Nyalana mused.

It was Elphaba's turn to question. "Do you have any family? Friends? Is anyone wondering where you are?"

The young man considered this for a moment, sensing they were not asking out of a desire to help him find anyone.

"No," He conceded, "My family was killed for harboring an Animal. My friends would be Animals, but they don't readily trust a foreigner…"

Elphaba studied him, hard. "You would have died for this Dog. For Besnik." She corrected herself out of respect.

"Animals have been dealt a great injustice," Was all Sun would offer.

Nyalana and Elphaba's eyes met across the room. The thread that connected them was strong, and they could almost hear each other's thoughts.

"Is he strong enough to leave?" Elphaba asked Sambwa.

The Gorilla nodded before adding, "Keep the bandages clean, for a few more days." She pressed the roll of clean cloth into Sun's hands.

Elphaba turned to lead the way outside, and Nyalana took Sambwa's hands. They dwarfed hers.

"Thank you, again," Nyalana smiled.

They made their way onto the street, with Besnik trotting behind. He finally spoke up, when he sensed they planned to go without him.

"My family…..they were exterminated…..I have no other life than to resist what the Wizard has done to them."

Elphaba turned and leveled the Animal with a discerning gaze.

"Besnik?" It was a rhetorical question, "It means Faithful, does it not?"

The Dog nodded. "Yes, it does."

After a moment, Elphaba conceded, "Follow us."

The group made their way carefully back to the corn exchange. Elphaba had convinced Nyalana that her residence was best for this meeting, as it was buried so deeply in the Animal Ward. She could accept the risk of them confessing the location of her home should they be tortured. She was no stranger to risk, and she felt a certain sense of responsibility for this motley group.

They climbed the narrow stairs in single file, and Elphaba heard their sharp intake of breath as they took in the Elephant skull. She arranged some empty crates for them to sit, and opened the only ale she had on hand. They sat silently for a moment.

Elphaba spoke first.

She addressed Sun, "What you did the other day….you know they would have killed you?"

Sun nodded, without fear.

"You would die for an Animal? One you've never met?" Nyalana asked.

Sun considered, "I have no other purpose. I have no other life. My life was taken from me."

Nyalana and Elphaba locked eyes and wordlessly made an assessment.

Elphaba, feeling as though she had come full circle in her mission, asked, "Would be willing to join the Resistance?"

Sun's eyes snapped opened wider, and he looked at each of them. "It exists?" He seemed dumbfounded.

"As surely as we bear the scars," Nyalana answered.

"I would be honored," Sun replied.

"As would I," Besnik interjected.

Elphaba nodded. "Very well then. Tomorrow we go to St. Aelphaba's. We'll see if the master finds you acceptable," She stood to dismiss them, "Until then, you must find a place to live. Someplace safe, that isn't easily found. Separate from one another." She looked from Besnik to Sun. She then addressed Nyalana.

"Send for Zaar. Tell her to meet us here at sundown tomorrow."

Nyalana nodded and turned to leave, but Sun's voice stopped her.

"You saved my life…." He addressed Elphaba, "I owe you a proper thank you."

She nodded, accepting.

Suddenly, Sun strode forward and wrapped her in a hug. In that moment, the she realized how large he was, and how her body was easily wrapped in his hulking frame. It was an altogether Quadling gesture, as they were not a people that masked their feelings or hid them away. Yet panic rose up in her, and Elphaba clawed her way free and stumbled backward against the wall. Her breath came hard, and she closed her eyes to steady herself.

Nyalana took Sun's arm and held his eyes with hers.

"We all have our scars," She offered as explanation, and he seemed to understand that Elphaba's reaction was not directed at him.

Sun nodded and slipped out the door, with Besnik trotting behind.

Nyalana crossed the room slowly as Elphaba slid down to sit against the wall. Her eyes were still closed. The Winkie girl took one slender green hand in her own and held it tightly, without speaking. Elphaba's breathing slowed, her pulse calmed. Yet she did not release Nyalana's hand. She clutched it tightly for quite some time, finding healing in the touch.

**************************************************

The next morning dawned bleak and foggy. A thick haze hung over the Emerald City, reducing its brilliant color to a murky palette of grays. They could barely distinguish the stones at their feet from the air around them as they made a slow path towards St. Aelphaba's. Had she been religious, Elphaba might have poised that the fog was a work of the Unnamed God, a sort of cloak to conceal the motley group from curious passerby. She knew they were unusual, at least. Sun's towering build and crimson-hued skin ran a sharp contrast to her verdigris. For her part, Elphaba was heavily swathed in scarves, her hat pulled down tightly. Nyalana clunked along in heavy men's work boots and trousers she had rolled up slightly. Besnik had conceded to walking on a leash. It was a sickening decision, to willingly concede to the Wizard's requirements, yet it was the only way to avoid questioning.

The Dog had raised his head proudly as Elphaba slung the rope around his neck.

"For the cause…" He had unwaveringly declared.

When they reached the steps of the church, they caught sight of Zaar. She was merely two deep, emerald eyes, glinting from the shadows of the pillars. Being black as midnight, she somewhat abhorred the daylight.

They all entered the church separately, not acknowledging one another. Each of them entered a prayer room alone, not hinting that they had a common cause. Elphaba made her way down the twisting corridor to the last room, in which she had once left a very large, very curious book. It came to her mind, and she wished she could have perused it. Perhaps it held some sorcery lessons that would serve her better than what she had so far discovered.

As she entered the room, Elphaba felt the cloak of darkness, and perhaps magick, fall over her. She had begun to sense there was something more than the lack of light that kept her from identifying her instructors. Perhaps it was a lack of sense altogether, a muting of the senses. It was a great act of sorcery, and she knew enough now to stand in awe of it.

"You have not come alone," The voice was not unkind.

"You know Nyalana. She brought me here," Was Elphaba's answer.

"And the others?"

"Zaar is already your servant, a cog in our machine."

"I know the Cat."

Elphaba was pleased at that. "The Quadling is Sun. He nearly died for the Dog, who is Besnik. He has no family, neither does. Their families were killed for harboring Animals, or being Animals. This is what they have left. I did not question them further, lest they say too much."

The voice was silent, perhaps considering. The stillness was deafening.

"Besnik…..means faithful, does it not?" The voice questioned.

"Yes."

"Let's hope he is worthy of it."

"I believe he is more than worthy," Elphaba assured.

After a moment, she continued, "We wish to be a cell."

There was a long pause.

"Send them in, the Dog first," The voice requested.

Elphaba slipped out, the dim light blinding her after the grip of the heavy darkness. She slipped down the corridor and nodded Besnik into the tiny room. She knelt as if to pray near Sun, and whispered for him to follow. Then she, Nyalana, and Zaar slipped out the door used by the maunts, and surveyed the alley they found themselves in. Zaar pretended to rummage for trash.

"When they come out," Elphaba instructed the Cat, have them meet at the exchange in three days, if they've been accepted."

Zaar nodded and licked herself most inappropriately.

_She knows how to play the game, _Elphaba had to admit as she and Nyalana slipped away, _she knows how to be a cat…_

**************************************************

In three days time, the five of them sat together again in the corn exchange. Yet this time, they all belonged to the Resistance. They looked at each other, knowing almost nothing of each other, and did not speak. Yet the silence was comforting. They were a cell, soldiers in the same army, each with their own scars and lives they couldn't, or wouldn't, share. They needed only the intensity in each other's eyes and the knowledge of the next mission.

And so they began, fervently attacking every task they were given. Things burned down, things disappeared, yet no one knew for sure who was responsible for what. Things simply happened. They played their parts, and time passed.

For Elphaba, the sense of purpose worked her spirit. Like a muscle being strengthened and showing its definition through the skin, her spirit shone in her eyes. She was at her best when she was working, when she was making things happen, making change. It helped her through the nights, or days, when she was alone. It was only then that she curled up on her bedroll and tried to pray away this need, this aching for something she could not define. And Elphaba Thropp was not a praying woman. It was almost blasphemous, as though her heart longed for something in direct contradiction with all she knew. She couldn't even name it. She just knew she needed.

It was during one of these haunting midnight sessions that Malky appeared, his body forming a silhouette in the skylight above her. Elphaba sat up quickly, thinking her eyes played tricks on her.

Yet he thumped down from the rafters, and he was real before her. His white fur was dingy, and he was nearly panting.

"Is something wrong?" She was suddenly alarmed.

"Yes. No…" Malky contradicted himself.

"Is it Zaar?"

Malky nodded.

Elphaba's heart constricted in her chest.

"She's alive," Malky quickly added, sensing her dread.

"Then…" Elphaba couldn't continue.

"She's in the palace," Malky's breathing was almost normal.

"What?!" Elphaba squeaked.

"One of the Wizard's chief advisors lost his precious cat, Tuffy. Apparently he looks very far down his nose at Animals. Zaar brushed herself up and slipped into the cage of purebreds he was brought from which to choose a replacement. She had been looking for an opportunity to infiltrate, to be behind enemy lines..." Malky took a deep breath, clearly afraid for her.

"And so she lives in the palace, as a common pet?" Elphaba finished the story.

Malky nodded.

"That's ingenious….it's so simple…" Elphaba mused, forgetting Malky for a moment.

The Cat cleared his throat.

"She's stronger than all of us," Elphaba told him, in an attempt to reassure the Animal.

Malky understood her meaning.

"I wondered," He finally spoke, "if I could stay here? Perhaps somewhat on the same terms…as a cat?"

Elphaba jerked her head up to meet his eyes. He knew she hated for him to pretend to be less than he was.

"I've fought my battles," He reiterated, "and I can't live alone without Zaar. Not now. And I've grown accustomed to……you." He threw the last part in haltingly, as though he were unsure of her response.

Elphaba nodded and looked way, shocked that for the first time in longer than she could say, she was fighting tears. Perhaps it was because he wanted to be near her. Perhaps it was because she had missed him, or perhaps it was that for the first time, someone valued her presence. She bit her lip until it bled, yet she did not let the offensive tears fall. The Unnamed God didn't let her cry.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

In the maelstrom of working as a cell, summer crept up on them, taking Elphaba by surprise. The swiftness of the heat settling over the city brought up strange and unwanted emotions. Had it been a year since she was smuggled from the hospital into this world she now knew? What she truly a year older already? When she rushed through the city on a mission, it seemed as though as lifetime has passed since the doctor had given her a new beginning. Yet when she lay in the dark, the horror of Hadrick and his many paying clients felt like yesterday. The nightmares were foggy now, especially with Malky curled up at her toes. They were more a swirling mix of images that left her with a vile feeling, wishing she could stand in the rain until the water washed them away. But that was certainly not to be.

She often stayed awake into the depths of night, studying sorcery and fighting sleep. She felt far more in control when she was awake. She thought the lack of sleep might be causing the headaches.

At times Elphaba could not predict or control, her head would throb, the pain radiating out from the back of her skull. It often made her fingers tingle, and forced her to shut her eyes until it passed. She could only suppose that this was some lasting affect from having been hit over the head with a washbasin, but she didn't want to give Peirory that type of control over her. To admit that his actions were still haunting her, hurting her, was something she could not do. So she endured it, and did not speak of it.

On this balmy, summer day she found herself at the end of one her headaches. Malky looked at her sympathetically, but she refused to acknowledge her pain. She paced, shaking off the last wisps of pain. The clock ticked loudly in the corner, seeming to shout at her that she only had an hour until she had to be in Southcity Square. Today was important, incredibly important, and she would not let this pain dull her senses. Not today.

She wrapped herself in her scarves, noting that her green skin was starting to be visible through the worn patches in her dress. She would be doing more mending it seemed, but not today. She would have to hope the glimpses of green would be taken for one of the many colors now woven into the dress. She pressed her hat down low on her brow and pulled on black gloves. She left just as the clock chimed noon, with Malky trailing behind her.

He kept his distance, and did not speak. They did not acknowledge each other. Elphaba wished he would stay behind, yet she knew he could not stay at the exchange today. Not for this.

They made their way through the city, dodging the busiest streets and keeping a great distance between them. Most people tended to take Elphaba as a grieving widow, and kept their distance. It was an assumption she didn't deny, as it kept people asking questions.

In nearly an hour, she and Malky found themselves amidst a large crowd. The throngs of citizens strained their necks and peered over one another to see the street in front of them. Gale Force officers kept the crowd at bay, all while looking anxiously up the street themselves.

Malky scaled a streetlamp and pretended to stalk birds, finally settling next to the lamp a few feet above the heads of the spectators. Elphaba glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before scanning the street before her. Agonizing minutes later, a caravan could be seen making its way up the street. A roar went up from the crowd as the Wizard himself appeared, riding in a great, gilded cart. His advisors followed in slightly less ornate carriages, in order of their importance. The crowd cheered and threw brightly colored flowers as the Wizard smiled and looked benevolent. The pathway for the caravan led to the center of Southcity Square, where a speech and other festivities were planned.

_It's such a farce…_Elphaba thought in disgust. _If they could see the Animals, the poverty, the extermination of children…perhaps they wouldn't be throwing flowers…_

As the caravan came closer, she could see Zaar, riding proudly in the second carriage with a collar of little flowers around her neck. She licked herself periodically, and pretended to be appropriately distracted by the birds that flitted about.

Elphaba looked from Malky to Zaar, and then back again. For a moment, the buzz around her seemed to diminish, muted by her thoughts. She saw only the two Cats, one white as snow and clearly holding his breath out of fear. The other, midnight black, was poised to make a great difference, to risk her life for a cause much greater than herself.

And there it was.

Black and white.

So clearly defined before her, all the shades of gray seemed to vanish in their presence. For a moment, Elphaba saw something true and real, and unsullied by the hate and lack of conviction she had been forced to wallow in. Malky and Zaar loved each other with an intensity that drove them forward, gave them strength and great purpose. For Zaar, to free the Animals meant to free her father from his silence and solitude. For Malky, to love Zaar meant to let her go, to let her do what only she could do, what she was born to do. A love as great as theirs would change the world, a little at a time. To love so deeply, so surely, would counteract a measure of the hatred the Wizard proliferated. In her murky world, Elphaba suddenly understood. She knew why Zaar had said she needed only the love of one person to heal her wounds.

_Love is black and white_.

The realization hit Elphaba with great force.

_In its truest form, it does not fail. It does not wound and is not self-seeking. It drives us, like an unquenchable fire, to be greater than we are. It goes beyond the shades of grey that color romance, and forges us all into something stronger. Like a white-hot flame, love refines us, until there are no grey areas, just the black and white of a sharpened sword, clearly reflecting the definitions of good and evil._

Elphaba was frozen for a moment, shocked at the depth and clarity of her own thoughts. She shook her head, trying to find her focus again. As Elphaba looked from Malky to Zaar, she felt the need again, the ache that friendship could not fill.

A flash of brown snapped her back into reality, and the noise from the crowd became deafening as the Wizard passed in front of her. She waved appropriately, needing to blend in. Suddenly, the flash of brown was an Animal.

Besnik nipped at the legs of the horses pulling the second carriage, his leash dragging the ground loosely. He looked the picture of an animal who'd jerked away from his owner in this large crowd. His performance was perfect as he imitated a dog that had been spooked by the thunderous horses and the hordes of people.

Just at the moment when the horses reared back, frightened by the yapping dog, Zaar shot into action. Hissing and acting altogether terrified at the commotion, she slipped into the seat of the open carriage and released the restraint keeping the Wizard's elderly advisor secured in the carriage. With the next rear of the agitated horses, the man was thrown from the carriage to land underneath their stamping hooves.

Elphaba turned her head, not so callous that she wished to watch the man's fate.

When she looked up, Malky was gone, and a crowd surrounded the body of the elderly advisor. Besnik was held by the leash by a couple of Gale Force officers. She could tell by the way they tried to calm him that they assumed he was nothing more than a frightened animal who'd lost his owner.

Zaar cowered in the carriage, hissing and spitting and refusing any consolation, until the Wizard retrieved her himself. He consoled her, and she played the part of cat once more.

_It was absolute genius! _Was Elphaba's thought as she made her way home. She had acted appropriately grieved, not wanting to stand out in the crowd as the one soul who did not grieve over the Wizard's loss. Yet her heart leapt with excitement over what they had accomplished. Together, they had taken out a key player, without leaving a trace.

_There is no explosive to find, or weapon to hint at murder. There is no trail. It was the perfect accident…_

Elphaba felt joy, if that was possible. She could hardly sleep that night, but for once it was not because of murky nightmares or insane ponderings. Even Malky seemed hyper-alert and rambled on at length about Zaar. Elphaba might have slept a little close to dawn, but she wasn't entirely sure.

**************************************************

They gathered at the exchange the following evening, all of them except Zaar. They just looked at each for a long time, a slight smile on each face.

"It was a success, this mission…" Sun mused, possibly to himself.

Nyalana nodded.

Besnik looked proud.

Elphaba rubbed her temples, hoping to stave off a headache.

Malky licked milk from a bowl, not sure that Sun even knew he was an Animal.

Elphaba started to speak, to comment on their teamwork, when she felt the tingling in her hands. She worked her fingers, hoping it would subside.

Suddenly, it overtook her.

It was a pain like she had never felt, coursing through her body like fire had filled her veins. She slipped to the floor, unable to make her body obey her. Her head pounded, becoming an audible sound in the depths of her ears. Her fingers clinched, her toes curled and she felt blinded by the pain. She wasn't sure if she was still conscious, but she was vaguely aware of being moved. A film of sweat formed over her body and stung her slightly.

Minutes, or hours, passed until she could make out Nyalana's face before her.

"Go………hospital……edge……Seventh Ward near…park…Dr. Weilhemm…" Was all Elphaba could choke out.

It was not in Elphaba's nature to ask for help. She despised the weakness of it, but her subconscious desire to live must have taken over. She needed the doctor's knowledge, and possibly the calming affect he'd once had over her.

Nyalana returned at dawn with the doctor, who looked altogether confused and yet compassionate. When they slipped into the second floor room of the corn exchange, his face melted into something Elphaba could not define. Relief? Understanding? Perhaps it did not matter.

The doctor cleared the room of all but Nyalana, since Elphaba clutched her hand tightly. He sat carefully next to the bedroll and studied his patient.

"How long has she been like this?" He asked.

"Hours," Nyalana answered.

Elphaba cried out silently, wanting to answer but finding herself unable to control her speech.

The doctor probed her head, searching without expression. He shone light into her eyes and felt the muscles in her arms and legs. And then he waited, like a great, calming presence, until she could speak.

Elphaba felt her muscles relax, and her tongue felt dry. She finally whispered, "Is this what dying feels like?"

The doctor smiled slightly.

"No," He answered, "It's paroxysm."

She looked up at him, confused.

He looked from Nyalana to the green woman in front of him, and then back again, perhaps considering how much the Winkie girl knew.

Elphaba simply nodded that he could continue.

"Paroxysm can happen after a head injury. We know very little about it, and we have no treatment. It's harmless, as far as long-term injury, but not pleasant."

Elphaba snorted her agreement.

"Over-activity can trigger it, as well as stress. That is most of what we know," The doctor concluded.

"Well that figures…" Elphaba snapped, and both the doctor and Nyalana seemed happy to see her spirit.

"You need rest…" Dr. Weilhemm advised, and clasped one slender, green hand. Her held it for a long time, but couldn't seem to find more words.

He rose to leave, stopping only to add, "If you need me, you know where to find me…"

With that he was gone.

Elphaba lay there for a long time, with Nyalana clutching her other hand. She was exhausted, so much so that even her usual undeniable spirit couldn't bring her up from the bedroll. She felt defeated, as though something of Peirory had knocked the wind out of her, again. It was another scar, a wound that would never completely heal, a physical reminder of being used and discarded.

As the morning sun began to rise in the sky, Nyalana squeezed her hand and said, "We all have our scars."

Elphaba looked into her deep, dark eyes, and found empathy.

She would get up again.

She would fight another day.

**************************************************

Not one to be kept down, Elphaba threw herself into her work, allowing the distraction to drive her. She averted her eyes from the concerned glances her comrades sent her way, and refused to acknowledge their questions. She knew they had to wonder. She knew there was compassion in Sun's eyes whenever she worked her fingers over her skull to dull the pain. Yet Elphaba couldn't accept their sympathy. Her façade was built on strength, and an unwavering perseverance that did not leave room for weakness. She knew there were far too many tears built up within her to let her guard down, even for a moment. So she worked, and tried to sleep. Sleep was, after all, the only thing that seemed to fend off the headaches.

Her sorcery prowess seemed to be increasing, if only by a measure. She could create great clouds of smoke and found herself quite excellent at setting things on fire. In the cool days of autumn, she often trekked beyond the city, to the great forests that lay just across the river. Here, she could let loose her emerging skills without fear of discovery or the destruction of her home. She was sure that a traveler, at some future time, would pass through the trees and wonder at the scorched branches and objects she had managed to turn into other objects.

By far the most interesting spell she had stumbled upon was the one for enchanting. Its real use eluded her, as Elphaba could not see any real reason to give life to something in a world as vile as she found Oz to be, but the spell was curious anyway. She had managed to give the trees a life of their own, breathing a sort of personality into them with her haunting, song-like spell.

On a particularly brisk day, she had stumbled into a field of corn stalks, struggling to live through an early winter chill. She looked into the painted face of a scarecrow and sung the enchanting spell in her low, melodious voice. He sprung to life, clumsy and far from intelligent, and promptly ran, screaming, at the sight of her.

"Well," She told the cornstalks, "that figures."

It seemed that even her own creations found something abnormal and repulsive in her verdigris.

The man of tin, on the other hand, was altogether accidental. She had been trying to animate the ax he carried, hoping it might provide a clever form of protection for her. However, the whole statue came to life and walked from the garden, which housed an eclectic collection of tin figures. He had swung his ax at her before clumping off into the woods, mumbling something that sounded like "witch".

Elphaba gave up the enchanting spell after that, finding it to be much more trouble than it was worth. She wished the best for her unlikely creations, but assumed they would fall victim to the first frightened citizen they stumbled upon. Except the trees, they seemed to fend for themselves.

As Elphaba emerged from the forest on a still, frigid day early in the season of Lurelinemas, she decided it would be her last trip of the season. Her cloak was barely shielding her from the biting wind, and her fingers had taken on a purplish color. She could only assume that was her skin's way of saying they couldn't withstand this cold.

_It's for the better anyway, _She mused to herself, _someone would be raising questions soon, if I turned to animating fruits and vegetables next…_

Just as she approached the edge of the Animal Ward, she caught sight of Besnik. He trotted over to fall in step beside her. He did not speak, yet his eyes clearly said, _Follow me._

So Elphaba wordlessly let him lead.

They wound through the Animal Ward, and exited in an industrial area on the east side of the city. The air was heavy, and her throat burned from the dust. Besnik scampered up the steps of a large warehouse that, from the outside, looked like a cannery.

The inside would tell a different story.

Elphaba gasped as she saw row upon row of cages, stacked a high as she could see and filling the vast space. Animals of every species looked at her with mournful eyes. It was impossible to tell Animal from animal, as they all trembled and had been castrated of all dignity. She did not need instruction.

Wordlessly, Elphaba began to open cages and lead the terrified creatures to freedom. Some looked into her eyes, and thanked her simply by showing that they were Animals. Others sprinted toward freedom without a backward glance. In one mammoth cage, she found a lion, trembling. It cowered and slunk away from her with its tail dragging, its spirit clearly broken. For a moment, the memory of the lion cub flashed through her head. She wasn't so idealistic as to think it could be the same Animal, yet it grieved her just the same. For any beast as regal as the tawny lion to be so broken was merely a testament to the Wizard's cruelty.

She knew many of the creatures were wary of her, unsure of her motives, and, as always, startled by her appearance. But she freed them just the same. She needed no thanks, just the knowledge that one more Animal was free to make its own life, to fight for the rights of its kind.

She and Besnik returned to the corn exchange some hours later, exhausted, filthy, and yet satisfied. She took the time to boil some milk for a little cocoa, which Besnik, to her surprise, enjoyed.

"I didn't suppose Dogs liked chococlate…" She threw out.

"There is a lot we do not know about each other," Besnik replied, studying her with his large, warm eyes.

Elphaba turned away, her profile revealing nothing of the story behind the emerald cover.

**************************************************

Lurelinemas snuck up on them, roaring through the city like a gold and green freight train. Snow came early, blanketing the city at nearly the same time as businesses covered themselves in the sparkle and festivity of the season. Without family with which to celebrate, the four comrades found themselves gathered in a ramshackle circle in the corn exchange, perched on various packing crates they had upended. Elphaba magicked a fire to warm them. She had become quite adept with the flame, and could contain it and keep it from spreading. She usually would not risk it, fearing the light from the flame would give away their presence in the exchange. Yet tonight the city was distracted with its holiday, and the four of them only had each other. They were each grateful for the warmth, of both the flame and the company.

"It's Lurelinemas eve," Sun commented, warming his hands over the flickering fire.

Malky swished his tail as he peered out one snow-crusted window. They all knew his heart ached for Zaar at this time of such joy and celebration.

"When I was a puppy," Besnik began, "we used to put out our shoes on Lurelinemas eve, and our father would fill them with candy before sunrise. He tried to pretend it was magick, but we knew it was him. But somehow," He looked into the flame, "it made it more special…that it was he who filled them…"

Sun smiled, enjoying the memory.

Malky plopped down from the window and perched on an empty crate. He curled his tail around his paws and cocked his head in his usual fashion.

"I used to hide treats throughout the house…different ones for each kitten," Malky chuckled at the memory, "and Zaar always found hers first. She was the fastest, and the cleverest. But then, she would always go back and help her brother, who had a difficult birth was somewhat impaired. She loved him. I think she mourns him the most…"

They smiled sadly, each with their own unspoken losses.

"We didn't have Lurelinemas in Quadling country, at least not so much as they do here," Sun offered, "As a culture, the business of it all wasn't so appealing…but we did exchange trinkets, little things we made ourselves. I kept one…from my mother," Sun produced a small, glass figure with wings that suggested a bird. It was wire, filled with glass in bright, speckled colors.

When it passed through her hands, Elphaba flashed back to a time at the very edges of her memory. Small green hands fingered glass, round and smooth and reflecting light. She wondered, for a moment, what had become of the glass orb that Turtle Heart had once made for her. She suddenly felt an overwhelming need to find it.

Nyalana shifted on her crate, reaching back into her cache of memories.

"In Winkie country, we would have a festival for days, with food and music…I remember dancing well into the night under the stars…" Nyalana's eyes took on a faraway glaze as she became a child again, dancing barefoot in the sand.

One by one, their eyes fell on Elphaba. She sat, twisting her fingers together. Long moments passed with just the crackling of the fire.

"We didn't celebrate Lurelinemas," She cleared her throat, and continued in a strained voice, "My father was a Unionist minister…"

Malky looked at her, with the firelight casting her skin in a warm, emerald glow and reflecting the flecks of gold in her eyes. Her dark hair was loose around her, like a great black waterfall glistening in the amber light. None would speak, for fear of her volatile nature, but he knew their thoughts were all the same.

Elphaba, in her green and gold glory, could be Lureline herself, the mystic queen who set Oz ablaze with magick. Or perhaps St. Aelphaba, her namesake, whose origins were so murky. Like the saint, she seemed far too different for this world. Malky felt a rush pride at knowing this woman, unique in all of Oz. This Lurelinemas, for her, he wished for someone who could help her see the woman they all saw, someone strong enough to hold up a mirror not tainted by the filth of life, but a true reflection of who she was.

Malky wished Elphaba could see the woman in the firelight.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Spring was late coming, allowing tendrils of snow to linger around the new blossoms that pushed their way through the icy soil. Elphaba was careful not to step on the buds as she picked her way through the park on this early, April morning. The crispness in the air made her feel alert, and strong. Her head was clear, and her eyes darted back and forth as she kept a careful vigil for anyone who might be watching her.

In a large tree on the edge of a grove of Quoxwoods, she slipped the package she carried into a hollow crevice, tucking it into the dark recesses. She then slipped away quickly, admiring the flowers. There wasn't time to question the contents of the package. It had been a week full of strange deliveries, and she was simply a cog this time, a muscular twitch in the larger organism.

Elphaba made her way leisurely through the park, not wanting to appear rushed and suspicious. She stopped suddenly when she stumbled on an open garden. The space had been meticulously landscaped to hold several small tables and chairs on a stone terrace, laid over the usual grassy terrain. It was a private area, where only the wealthiest, most noteworthy citizens could hold a brunch.

This morning, the area was occupied by white and grey-haired ladies in ridiculously ostentatious gowns dripping with jewels. Elphaba recognized the wives of the Wizard's personal advisors, secretaries and officers. And there, seated in the far left corner, sat the headmistress of Shiz University, Madame Morrible herself.

Elphaba had always felt the teacher had ties beyond the University, ties that made her powerful and dangerous. She had felt the powerful tug of Morrible's skills in sorcery, and had postulated that this woman had more sinister intentions than simply causing her trouble in school. Yet here was proof, before her eyes.

The headmistress smiled demurely and leaned in to catch the gossip filtering across her table. She sipped her drink with a fish-like pucker and scanned the crowd with wide, bulging eyes.

_I suppose she's found someone else to be her puppet, unless of course Galinda crumbled after all…_Elphaba wondered.

Yet Galinda of the Arduennas was absent from this gathering, eliminated either by age or perhaps lack of real political influence.

_But I suppose she's still just Glinda, now…_

A dark flash caught Elphaba's eye, and she realized Zaar was perched on a stool near one especially feeble, squinting old woman. Her collar was sprinkled with rubies today, which glinted in the dappled sunlight. The Cat turned her head, sniffed at the air, and set her gaze in Elphaba's direction. She leapt down from the stool and danced after a butterfly, swatting and leaping for it until she deftly climbed the tree just behind Elphaba.

"You've certainly earned some finery…" Elphaba reached to finger the delicate collar.

"It's a beautiful shackle," Zaar answered, and Elphaba understood.

"A lot of deliveries this week," Elphaba commented, hoping for some news from the palace.

"There are stirrings about," Zaar followed suit, "some Animals have set up a colony in Fliaan. They have a measure of weapons, and a printing press. Anti-Wizard propaganda has turned up, and the forces are mobilized to stop it."

Elphaba felt a bubble of joy rise up in her. Yet it was mixed with a powerful fear for the Animals involved.

"There's nothing you can do," Zaar answered Elphaba's question before she posed it. "This is their fight. You are an ally, but any true revolution must be carried out by those most affected. For us to truly win, we must stand for ourselves. No one can win our freedom for us."

Elphaba wanted to argue, but she couldn't. Zaar was right.

"You must fight with us," Zaar added, "not for us."

Elphaba stared beyond the trees for a moment. "Perhaps if the Animals are free, there might be a measure of freedom…for me," She inhaled sharply after she said it, not entirely meaning to say it out loud.

Zaar look at her, compassionately studying her.

"You have done everything you can," Zaar finally spoke, "and you will continue to do everything you can. You're not one to live an idle life. But you are tired, and you are much too thin. And there is a sadness in your eyes beneath the zeal and determination."

Zaar paused for a moment, and Elphaba flushed at having been scrutinized so personally.

"Perhaps it is the season for you to take something for yourself," Zaar proposed, "We aren't meant only to give, you know."

Elphaba whipped her head around to meet the Cat's eyes. "I do not need--" She started, but Zaar stopped her.

"We all need, sometimes. You and I are too alike to argue."

Elphaba froze, because Zaar did not back down from her dark, flashing eyes.

"When you find it, whatever it is," Zaar instructed, "take it. Do not be ashamed or afraid. Take it, with no regrets."

And with that, she scampered delicately down the tree and back to her stool, where she licked herself idly.

**************************************************

Perhaps it was because of Zaar's words, or the number of years that had passed since she was an idealistic student, but the weeks began to pass in a hazy fog for Elphaba. She was often angry with herself, wondering if somehow she had started to care less for her cause. Yet as spring melted into summer, she began to think it was not that the Animals mattered less, but that it wasn't enough anymore. Every year that she added to her age seemed to splinter life into a more complex and fragmented puzzle. When she had left Shiz behind, she'd been a girl devoted to her cause, with only one goal, one need. Yet the image reflected back at her in the storefronts of Oz was clearly a woman now, complex and confused in her regal, patchwork black dress.

So on this clammy, late summer day, Elphaba found herself in Saint Glinda's Square, having just left the church after receiving new instructions from her current contact with the Resistance. She stood in the balmy sun, swathed in scarves and having nowhere else to be. These were the hardest times, between assignments, when she felt purposeless, powerless, and utterly alone. On a whim, perhaps to escape the fierce afternoon sun, she wandered into the Unionist chapel in the square.

It was impossibly cool inside, and her eyes slowly adjusted to the candlelight. She considered darting back out the door, finding the whispered prayers and religious figures quite overwhelming. The chapel had an altogether different feel from that St. Aelphaba;s, her namesake. St. Glinda's, where she had so often received instruction, was more of a monument or a tourist stop, than a functioning church. Still, the religion in this place was palpable, tangible, and a bit overwhelming.

Penitents knelt in prayer, whispering fervently, while maunts, young and old, carried out sacraments and kept candles lit. Elphaba forced herself to walk forward, making her way past prayer altars and ikons of so many saints. As she wound her way into the bowels of the church, she found small prayer rooms, some with great religious books open to comforting, or condemning, passages. Elphaba glanced at them with the distant hope that one might be the book she had so long ago stolen and delivered. None were.

In the very last room, no bigger than a closet, she almost stumbled over a young maunt, deep in prayer. Her head was bowed so that her chestnut hair fell across her face, where it had pulled loose from the knot at her neck. Her fingers were delicate, almost like a child, and something stirred within Elphaba.

The maunt sensed a presence behind her and turned, her face catching the flickering candlelight as she caught sight of the green woman.

Elphaba froze in recognition.

_Eliana._

The name rang through her mind, and she considered which direction she could run the fastest.

The maunt stood and took hold of Elphaba's arm before she could move.

"Fae?" Her voice was strong and soft at the same time.

Elphaba couldn't answer.

"It's you, isn't it? I can see it in your eyes," Eliana studied her.

"So my eyes gave me away? I would've thought it was the green…" Elphaba resorted to wit, which made her feel less off balance.

Eliana smiled slightly, and she dropped her gaze to examine the emerald hand she clutched in her own.

"We have the same scars…" Eliana whispered, raising her eyes to meet Elphaba's once more.

Elphaba turned to bolt out the door, stopped only by the maunt's grip on her hand.

"Don't go!" Eliana's eyes were pleading, "I'm not asking anything of you!"

Elphaba stopped, confused by the need in Eliana's voice.

"It's just…cathartic…to be near you," The maunt nearly whispered, "If you have survived, and you are still good, it gives me strength."

Elphaba snorted, not meaning to be harsh, but unable to believe that she could give anyone strength. She felt ready to crumble at any moment, barely able to carry the weight of the work she did. She was no one's idol.

So they sat on a narrow bench, in silence.

Elphaba finally spoke, "I believe it will break me, this secret you and I share, whether it be from holding it in, or in the anguish of finally telling it. Either way, the pain of it is too much for one person to bear…" She trembled at having said even that much, and kept her eyes straight ahead, not meeting Eliana's.

"That is why I pray," Eliana finally answered, "because nothing surprises God. No atrocity is beyond what he can see. God weeps with me, without shock or judgment."

Elphaba's temper flared, "The Unnamed God cares little for any of us. I have been used as a pawn for this God, and he seeks only to selfishly pass judgment on those without means to change themselves!"

"The Unnamed God is not my god," Eliana answered without hesitation, "That is simply man's twisted version of who they want God to be. My God shows compassion, mercy, and gives strength. He brings what I need, when I need it," She paused, "He brought you here…"

Elphaba turned to stare at the young maunt. She was rendered speechless by shock. Eliana's face was peaceful, thankful even.

"You cannot just create your own God! It's absurd, and is simply an empty wish born from your desire to make sense out of the cesspit of life!" Elphaba knew her words were harsh, but for once it was how she truly felt.

But Eliana would not be deterred, "People believe all kinds of things, from the legends of Lureline and Kumbricia, to the stoic and harsh Unnamed God. I choose to believe the God of my faith is not who so many Unionist ministers have made him out to be. I choose to pray to a God who loves me in my imperfection, rather than one who wishes to burn it out of me with hellfire. My God meets my needs, as small as they may be."

Elphaba simply stared, wanting to argue but finding the absolute peace on Eliana's face riveting.

"I look at things in a different way," Eliana conceded, "I believe God hurts for us, for all we've chosen to do each other, rather than seeing him as the one hurtling all the hate and depravity down upon us."

Neither spoke for a long time, as Elphaba did not know how to respond. She was used to being unique, to walking a different path, but Eliana had made her own path altogether. She was carving a road no one had ever traveled. And something in Elphaba wanted to travel it with her.

She took Eliana's hand, lacing her angular green fingers through the maunt's paler ones.

"I've never believed in the soul," Elphaba stated haltingly, "It just seems to imply there is an eternal side to our current suffering…"

Eliana reached up tenderly, and brushed the loose, dark strands of hair off Elphaba's face. It was altogether sisterly, and Elphaba was too shocked to pull away.

"Pray to my God," Eliana requested, "and see if you don't find your soul."

Elphaba couldn't deny her the request, although the idea of prayer was still quite repulsive.

Eliana rose to leave, realizing she had other duties in the mauntery. As she reached the door, she turned back. "We're both scarred, you and I, but that doesn't mean we have to be broken. I have found my purpose, and my peace. I will pray you find yours."

And with that she was gone, having opened a great, metaphorical Pandora's box for Elphaba.

Elphaba felt her emotions rolling and tumbling, working her stomach into knots. She wanted to run, and she wanted to stay. She wanted to spill her secrets on the altar, and she wanted to smash the Unionist relics to pieces.

She rose unsteadily, and made her way slowly down the narrow hallway, passing the prayer alcoves again. She stopped at one poorly lit ikon, finding irony in that it was of Saint Glinda. Fighting her very nature, she shuffled into the small space and knelt, telling herself it was a gesture meant only for Eliana. Elphaba bowed her head and stumbled, mentally, over what to say. Finally, she uttered the only thing she could get out, the simplest and yet most potent of prayers.

"God, if you exist in any other form that what I know of you, I need…I need…" She stumbled over it, truly unsure what the end of the sentence was. She needed something, something concrete, and definite, and real. Something not magicked up with smoke and mirrors and illusions.

"I need something real," She concluded, feeling quite ridiculous.

"Elphaba!"

The sound of her name nearly scared her into an early grave. She had not heard her given name in so long, it sounded alien, as though it was no longer part of her. It was as though they called for someone she'd left behind years ago.

She turned slowly, dazed by the dim lighting and the intensity of her prayer. She felt ashamed, as though this person must have heard her ridiculous attempt at religion.

"Elphaba, it's Fiyero," The voice spoke again, and seemed to be coming from the tall, dark-skinned figure blocking the doorway.

She wouldn't let herself remember. It had been too long ago. She was far too different, too much had changed. She pretended not to know him, ducked her head and tried to disappear. Yet he persisted, and used her full given name, which she had nearly forgotten herself. Then he used Elphie, and it was painful, as the lightness of it seemed such a contradiction with who she had become.

When she could not shake him off, she agreed to meet him in an hour, at the fountain. It would give her just enough time to escape, to slip, unnoticed out the back and leave him behind, puzzled, but still remembering her as she had once been.

_It's better, _She thought, _who I once was is a better memory than this shell I've become…_

Yet Fiyero of the Arjikis would not be so easily eluded.

Answered prayers are hard to shake off.

**************************************************

Elphaba realized he was behind her just a few blocks from the church, and her heart began to pound. A hundred thoughts began to swirl erratically through her head as she cut corners and tried put passerby between her and Fiyero.

What could he possibly want from her so badly? Why did he have this need to chase her as though they had been inseparable friends? Were they not merely acquaintances, brought together by a lion cub and the unusual nature of their skin? Or perhaps their friendship had meant far more to him than she had realized…

Elphaba cut corners and followed the light of the western sun, which seemed to be her beacon, leading her home. Yet he was swift and sharp, and fear began to grow in her. Within sight of the corn exchange, she rooted within her cloak for the key. Her hands trembled as she made for the door.

"Fabala!"

She turned before she could catch herself, and altogether gave herself away. The scarves and cloak and layers of black could not hide the expression on her face.

Fiyero closed the distance between them swiftly, and she fumbled with the lock while her heart pounded in her ears. She'd barely opened it and slipped through the crack when he jammed his foot between the frame and the door. Elphaba desperately tried to close the door, fear quickly becoming terror.

"Are you in trouble?"

His question made no sense, for someone bent on harming her.

"Leave me alone, please, please!" She begged. She was growing desperate, clawing at the door in her effort to shut him out.

"You're in trouble, let me in," Fiyero's words were kind, truly concerned, but she was too jaded, and he was too male, for her to concede.

"_You're_ trouble. Stay out."

"You're making me into a monster," He argued, pulling open the door enough to wedge in his shoulder, "I'm not going to rob you or rape you…"

Elphaba didn't hear the rest of what he said. Her head spun, and she felt as though he could see through her. She felt as though he _knew_, somehow, as impossible as that would be. And so she lost her grip on the door.

Fiyero fell backward, stumbling over himself and looking shocked.

Elphaba stood, paralyzed, for a moment, until she saw the look on his face. He looked altogether confused and hurt, and then confused again. She took a deep breath, and made herself remember that he used to be a friend.

_He once helped you...laughed with you, _She told herself,_ He's just Fiyero. He's still the same..._

"I remember you as full of delicacy and grace," She threw out, needing the memory to calm herself, "Did you catch something by accident, or did you study awkwardness?"

Fiyero half-smiled and defended himself as she allowed him to follow her up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Malky scampered up with them, not speaking, but looking in Elphaba's eyes for cues as to the identity, and safety, of this stranger. She put out some milk for him, bolstering the illusion that he was merely an animal. Yet over the saucer their eyes met, and by now she and the Cat could read each other's thoughts.

_I think he's safe. I know him._

_I'll be right here._

She watched Fiyero's eyes rove over her ramshackle home, taking in the elephant skull, and the flowers she'd had Malky slip inside of it. It was a pathetic tribute to a beautiful Animal who'd given its life so unnecessarily. The glass orb glinted in the evening light, and she still marveled that she'd been able to dig it out of the boarded up shell that was Hadrick's home. Fiyero studied the sallow wood table she'd spent nearly an entire day dragging to the second floor from where she'd found it, abandoned in the residence across the street. He took in the bedroll, the bits and pieces of spells, and leftover food that hadn't made its way back into the cupboard. For a moment, she was self conscious, and very aware that her home was not much of a home.

So she covered the insecurity with humor and wit, and made Fiyero tell her about his life. What he said would later be foggy to her, as she was altogether agitated and unable to sit still. He laid out the basics of his life, confirmed his marriage to his child bride, and even told her something of Glinda. It gave her a measure of peace, to know that Glinda was married, but not affluently enough to be mired in the Wizard's political circle.

Still, Fiyero pressed her further, seeming bent on understanding why she had left them all at Shiz, as though she had done him some great, personal injustice. She answered him flippantly, and tried to put him off, but he was persistent. He looked at her with wide, dark, brooding eyes that had so much more depth than she was used to. She answered before thinking.

"I loved you too much to keep in touch."

And she regretted the admission, feeling it implied far too much.

"What does _that_ mean?" Fiyero looked shocked.

"Don't _ask _me," She threw out the words, feeling the fear and the need to run rising up in her again. Elphaba couldn't say for sure why she had said it. It was a reflex, like pulling one's hand away from a flame. She wondered if, having said it so instinctively, that made it true. She waived her arms, signaling the conversation was over, and bustled about, pretending the straighten things.

Yet Fiyero pressed on, either because he was terribly stubborn, or because he truly cared. He needled and questioned, seeming desperate to know where she had been, as though all he'd done for five years was consider the fate of Elphaba Thropp.

"Are you associated with the Animal Relief League, or one of those defiant little humanitarian organizations?" Fiyero finished his questioning.

She whipped around, her eyes blazing, knowing she was taking out her bitterness and anger on an entirely innocent victim, but she didn't care. It had been her experience that humans did very little to help one another, and even less for Animals. It had been a human who raped and scarred her, followed by dozens more who served only to prove, for her, the great capacity for malice the human race possessed.

"I never use the words _humanist_ or _humanitarian,_" She choked out between clenched teeth, "as it seems to me that to be human is to be capable of the most heinous crimes in nature."

Fiyero was undeterred. He did not shrink away from her intensity, or argue against her point.

So Elphaba finally conceded, telling him a sliver of her story, enough to pacify. Then she tried to usher him out, evading his persistent questions and stressing the urgency that he not return.

She needed him gone, because she felt entirely off balance. His presence was working her into a state of agitation she hadn't experience in quite a while. He knew too much about her and made her consider things beyond her cause. He wanted her to be someone again, instead of just a mechanism in a greater organization. Fiyero wanted her to be a person, who felt and loved and remembered. And she was very afraid of that, terrified, even.

So Elphaba hustled him out the door. She was nearly rid of him, when he turned and clasped her hand. It was altogether unexpected, and for a moment she dropped the carefully constructed mask that was her façade. He studied her a moment longer than was necessary and she feared she might have scared him away with what he saw in her face.

_It's irrelevant, _She told herself, _Because you won't be letting him come back._

**************************************************

And yet she did, more than once. Elphaba let him sit and talk, and share stories of people she hadn't seen in years. She listened and questioned, and even laughed, which shocked her. She found herself riveted by the tribal markings on his face, and then felt a stab of shame when her eyes followed them down to the open collar of his shirt.

Everything inside of her said to run from him, to focus on her mission and what she had devoted herself to. Yet Zaar's comments haunted her. She had given so much, worked so hard. Briefly, she ventured that she might deserve a chance to laugh. And then she berated herself for it, feeling deeply ashamed.

It was in this state of great conflict that Elphaba opened the door for Fiyero's latest visit. Her heart fluttered a little at the sight of him, with his Winkie skin, smooth as dark chocolate, and his dark hair cut short, to keep it from being unruly.

Fiyero went on at length this time about Sarima, his wife, and the family he had left behind in the Vinkus. She didn't quite know why, but the stories gave Elphaba a sour feeling, especially the scandalous idea of him taking his sisters-in-law as a sort of harem. That such a custom was even remotely acceptable was repulsive, and yet she wondered why it mattered so much.

And then he insulted her, when she made it known she didn't understand such a custom.

"You're not married, you don't know…"

He might have continued, but her temper flared and she didn't hear him.

Of everyone she knew, she felt herself to be the most enslaved, the most bound and chained and devoted. She was married to a cause that demanded every bit of her, and would most likely claim her life, and even her soul, if it existed.

"I am married," She spat, "just not to a man."

Then Elphaba heard it, the bitterness and anger and harshness with which she had spoken. It shocked her, hearing how hard she had become, and then it grieved her. Had she meant to become this cold and regretful? And why now, in this moment, did it suddenly seem to matter so much? Why was this maelstrom of feeling whirling through her, making her question her motivations and needs and frivolous things she'd thought she'd lost forever?

She saw Fiyero's shocked expression, and suddenly there were tears. Great, fat tears that threatened to spill, and that seemed to have come from nowhere. Elphaba sniffled, turned away and tried desperately to will them away.

When she could not, she ran for the blanket, thrown haphazardly across the counter, and desperately tried to wipe them away.

"Elphie, Elphie," He used her old, pet name with such tenderness it brought up a fresh wave of tears. She nearly cursed, for she felt as though she had lost all measure of control.

_What in Oz name is wrong with me?_ She asked silently, but was afraid to answer her own question.

Fiyero wrapped his arms around her, tenderly, without expectation, and looked as though he might cry with her. Yet he was a man, and he cleared his throat and said nothing.

The instinct to pull away was strong, but the warmth between them stopped her. Her breath caught as she looked up into his mournful eyes. Unlike all the others, she felt he could see her soul. If it was there, she felt he would find it.

Fiyero took a corner of the blanket and wiped the offensive tears away, drying each eye with a tenderness that was altogether foreign to her. He was close, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She felt paralyzed, but she wasn't entirely sure it was fear that riveted her to this spot.

Fiyero reached up and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. His eyes fell on the single, large, ivory pin holding her hair in a knot on her head. He reached up, before she could protest, and pulled it out. Her hair came tumbling down, cascading over his hands like black satin. He wound his fingers in it, as if it were newly discovered riches.

Elphaba gasped lightly, and felt a twinge in her stomach. Warmth began to spread through her, working its way outward until it reached the very tips of her fingers and toes. Everything within in her told her to run, to push him away and bolt toward the door, to scream obscenities and scare him into the night. Yet she couldn't. The warmth had become a gnawing, aching yearning deep within her that simply…wanted.

Suddenly, Zaar's words flooded over her, ringing through her mind with more clarity than she had felt in a long time.

_When you find it, whatever it is, take it. Do not be ashamed or afraid. Take it, with no regrets._

Something took over her. Elphaba pushed him backward against the wall, clutching and grasping and kissing him, more like a whirlwind than a woman.

"No, no," She heard herself protest, but still she did not stop.

"I'm not a harem…I'm not a woman…" But she pressed herself closer, finding lips and tongue and fingers, and the very sensation of being touched, intoxicating. She wondered if he could tell she'd never kissed, and in the same moment didn't care.

"I'm not a person…no…" And at that Fiyero stopped for a half a second, looked into her eyes and pulled her fiercely to him, his hands hopelessly tangled in her hair.

Malky turned from them as they moved together, relying on instinct, raw sensation and Fiyero's limited experience with a lukewarm, somewhat resentful, child bride. Elphaba couldn't take in enough at once. She hitched up her dress and wrapped herself around him, grasping and clawing at his neck and burying her fingers in his dark, exotic hair. She was speechless, thoughtless, brainless, even. For once, she stopped thinking, shut down all logic and let herself feel, in the most carnal way that she could feel. He was new and different, and unlike every other man who had touched her. It was as though she had finally, willingly, claimed what was rightfully hers.

And in the climax of the moment, she let out a rich, guttural wail that split the night. It was more than physical pleasure, simple passion, or the release of tension. It was triumphant and mournful, and scared Fiyero just a little, as he marveled at the power and depth of……her.

And then she pulled away, as quickly as she had seized him, and stumbled across the room to clutch the back of a chair.

Fiyero stared at her. Her dress was rumpled, yet still covered almost all of her, her hair was tangled and wildly disarrayed, and her chest heaved in gasping breaths. She was trembling, grasping the chair and staring at her hands.

For a moment, Fiyero wondered if he had dreamt it, perhaps momentarily losing himself in fantasy. Yet his trousers were undone, and there was quite a draft. He did them up, still speechless. He had lost himself to her, he was sure of it. It was as though he'd surrendered his virginity for the first time again, or perhaps finally given all of it. He was absolutely male, and he had slept with Sarima like any young, pleasure-seeking, man. Yet the fierceness of this feeling was new and overwhelming.

It didn't seem possible that, just a moment before, he had been buried deep inside of Elphaba Thropp, feeling the rocking and clenching of her body as she held tightly to him, like a desperate person trying not to drown.

He went to her, both afraid to touch her, and wanting to rip the dress off of her. It had been moments, and yet he wanted more. He wanted to see her and know her, to explore what was underneath and inside and beyond. Sweet Oz, he felt he could spend eternity and still never really know what lay in the depths of her.

She still trembled, still wouldn't look at him. So he took her in his arms, and she collapsed against him, as though she no longer had the strength to stand. He carried her to the bedroll, and she pulled him down to her, wrapping herself around him, trembling still.

Elphaba held him through the night, until dawn broke over the corn exchange, unsure that she could let go. She wasn't sure that alone was an option now. She wasn't sure where she ended and he began.

She wasn't sure she could face him in the daylight.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Elphaba forced him out the door at dawn, needing him gone before the sunlight made all that had happened real. Fiyero still managed to pull her into him for a long, lingering kiss.

She wouldn't meet his eyes as he whispered, "I'll be back, in three days, at sunset."

"No, no you won't. You mustn't. You couldn't…" Her argument was rambling and nonsensical.

And then he was gone, leaving her with just the dust and furniture, and Malky, who climbed down from the skylight.

Elphaba curled up on the bedroll and wrapped the blanket around her. Malky padded gently over, and looked up at her with compassionate eyes. She turned away, not ready to talk. So he curled up near her and closed his eyes.

She stared, watching the sun brighten and fill the room with golden light. Her thoughts ran rampant, and she was grateful that she did not have a mission today.

Growing up under the thumb of a unionist minister, with a crippled sister and without a mother, Elphaba had never considered sexuality in any real sense. It had always been a vague notion that, it seemed, would not be part of her life. Perhaps it was this lack of knowledge, or even consideration, which had made Hadrick's crimes against her so heinous, so unexpected, and so wildly beyond anything she imaged could happen to a person. And now there was this. It was such a great contradiction, and she wasn't sure how to resolve it. How could this act, which she had so feared and reviled, now make her feel so full and alive and new? It was altogether illogical, and yet all she wanted was more. And at the same time, she was afraid, afraid that he wouldn't return, or that he would. She feared that he would discover how she'd been used and wasted and thrown out like garbage. She was afraid that now that he'd had her, he was done with her.

The sun was at the noon position before she shook herself out of her reverie. Malky raised up his head and stretched languidly, inspecting her.

"So," He began, "Your name is Elphie?"

She looked at him, and trusted him, completely.

"It's Elphaba," She admitted quietly.

"It's a nice name..." Malky complimented.

She turned away, hiding behind her hair.

"I do not judge you," The Cat spoke firmly, but with compassion.

Elphaba finally looked at him.

"You're a woman, Fae……Elphaba. Not a machine or soulless revolutionary. You are a person, and a woman. And you deserve to be loved."

"I need this," Her voice was barely a whisper as she struggled to articulate, "It makes me feel good and new, complicated, holy and wicked…it just makes me…feel."

Malky nodded as she rose from the bed and started banging dishes and furniture around.

"He won't come back," She was talking to herself, "none of them ever came back…"

Malky begged the Unnamed God that this one would come back. He didn't think her spirit could withstand the devastation of having given so much, so freely, only to be discarded once again.

_I pray that this one is a good man…_

**************************************************

For the next three days, Elphaba threw herself into her work, making deliveries and giving instructions to her comrades as she received them. She wondered if they saw a change in her, a new vigor or an agitated nature. None let on if they did.

On the third day, she went to see Sambwa to have her dress cleaned. She had the Gorilla wash and brush her hair until it shone, telling herself it was simply due. She took with her a fresh supply of oils, which she had needed anyway. She refused to admit that any of it was for him.

Back at the exchange, she lit a lamp, hung her great, heavy dress over a chair, and peeled off her other garments. She cast them aside and poured a little oil into her hands. She had learned to turn away from the window for this ritual, for fear that she would catch her reflection in it. She supposed she might never be able to look at herself without a measure of disgust. All that she saw in the reflection were the scars, making the word 'whore' pound through her head.

Elphaba thoroughly rubbed herself down with lavender oil, until her skin was soft and clean. She started to wind her hair up into a corkscrew, but she remembered his hands in it, and she left it loose. She blew out the lamp as the last rays of the sun melted over the horizon, and wrapped the blanket around her naked body. And then she sat, waiting, and began to feel silly. Her thoughts were rambling and inconsistent as she twisted her fingers together.

_Why would he come back? He's had you._

_I am not a whore._

_What else does he need from you?_

_People do not love you._

_He called you Elphie…and the look in his eyes…_

The door creaked and startled her out of her erratic reverie.

And there he was, standing before her, searching the darkened room with his eyes.

"Fiyero?" She needed to know that it was him.

"Elphie? Why is it so dark?" He pushed the door closed behind him and tried to navigate the space.

"Just come…" She whispered, not ready to explain.

He made his way over, stumbling and stubbing a toe. He finally lowered himself onto the bedroll, reaching for her hand and taking it in his.

"I thought you might not come," She cleared her throat and looked away, trying to appear as though it wouldn't have mattered either way.

He looked hurt.

"Oh Elphie…" He touched her face with one hand, and leaned in to kiss her, brushing her lips gently, carefully even.

She was startled at her body's reaction, and the speed at which it ached and tingled and responded. Its capacity to heal and revive after such battering and torment shocked her. She moaned a little, and wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer. When she did, the blanket slipped, and he realized she was naked.

Fiyero gasped lightly, and she could see his trousers tighten over his excitement. Elphaba turned away and covered her uncertainty with sarcasm.

"Don't act as though you've never seen a woman undressed. Perhaps you've seen a whole harem of them…"

"Don't chide me. I've never seen you…" He trailed off, his eyes daring to roam over her body. "We could light the lamp," He started to move.

"No!" Her reaction shocked him, she knew. "There will be no light, or I'll send you from here and then disappear. I can do it." She didn't mean to be threatening, but she simply couldn't have him see her, so very green and strange and scarred, in the light.

Fiyero looked concerned, with great questions in his eyes, but he let it go. He knew better than to argue with her. He understood her ability to disappear.

So he kissed her, again.

For long moments he simply touched her, running his hands over her skin, finding her small, expressive breasts, the cleft in her neck, the dip at the small of her back. He marveled at how soft she was, and how she smelled of something exotic and mesmerizing. She was also much too thin, but he dared not tell her.

Her breath came in small gasps as she discovered what it meant to be touched so completely, so softly. His lips found hers hungrily, and her hands found the collar of his shirt. She studied the diamonds that ran from his face to his neck, and suddenly she was pulling at his shirt. It ripped a little as she tore it away to expose the diamonds that ran over his chest to his waist, and further.

Her hands trembled, and she focused only on the diamonds as she undid his trousers and exposed the rest of him. There was a twinge of fear at the sight of him, exposed and aroused and so very masculine. Yet he made no move toward her, and she forced herself to calm. She ran her fingers over the pattern of diamonds, tracing the length of them, and watching as he gasped and moaned at her touch. It was new, the way he reacted to her, the way she controlled this moment. It melted her fear.

Elphaba pulled him under the blanket. Her hair spilled out around her as they wrapped themselves in each other, entwining legs and arms and lips. It was dizzying, the feeling of skin on skin from head to toe. Male and female melded together as they surrendered to the power of their lovemaking.

Each time they thought it was over, they found each other again, clinging to one another through racking, trembling, explosive climaxes and aching, lingering explorations of each other.

Elphaba stopped him only when his hands ventured below her waist, terrified at his reaction if he discovered the scars and all they implied, afraid of his disgust and rejection if he knew. By dawn they were hopelessly tangled in the blankets, sleeping. Malky found them this way when he returned from some midnight foraging. He smiled a little, at this picture of love in such a cruel and hateful world.

**************************************************

Their affair continued this way, with Elphaba waiting under the blanket for him on the nights she wasn't trekking about for the Resistance. She surprised herself with how comfortable she'd become with him, how much she looked forward to talking, even arguing, with him. He was the one person in her life from whom she didn't have to keep her life a secret. As much as she loved Nyalana, and had come to trust Besnik and Sun, they could know almost nothing of each other. Fiyero truly knew her.

She supposed that was why it was beginning to gnaw at her, this secret she kept buried. She began to feel as though she owed him honesty. It seemed that this man who'd known her so intimately deserved to know that she had once been someone's whore. But it terrified her, since in every scenario in which she imagined telling him, he said horrible things and disappeared forever.

The closest they'd come to broaching the subject, was his implication that this was her first sexual experience.

"You think all this is new to me. You think I am such a virgin," She had said, and then wasn't sure how to continue. Perhaps it was better to let him think she had had some previous affair, or a fleeting moment with a school friend.

"You didn't bleed the first time," He had answered, "So what's to think about?"

She had sighed and changed the subject, not ready or able to explain. Yet in her mind she thought, _There is so much to think about. So very, very much to think about…_

So Elphaba let him in on everything else, as a sort of compensation that he couldn't possibly understand. She expounded on her father, Nessarose, and even her younger brother, of whom she knew very little. It was nice, she found, to remember, even the things that were hard, because it was like another time, before she hated herself so much.

She could tell it was all having an affect on her, as evidenced in her conversation with Nyalana one afternoon in early fall.

"Fae? Fae?"

She was startled, and realized Nyalana must have been calling her name for several moments.

"Fae," Nyalana looked a little shocked, "you're smiling…"

Elphaba caught herself, and realized she had been staring across the darkened pub, her lips turned up in the slightest smile.

She shook it off and looked at her hands, mumbling, "I'm so sorry…I shouldn't be distracted."

Nyalana took her hand, and Elphaba found the touch wasn't disturbing anymore.

"Whatever it is that you've found, I hope it makes you happy. We could all use a little happiness…"

"He does…" Elphaba answered before she could catch herself.

She dipped her head, to hide her deep blush in the shadow of her hat.

Nyalana continued their business, sparing Elphaba any further discussion. She knew the green woman well enough by now not to push for details. For anyone else, Nyalana would have felt a relationship would make them weak and vulnerable, but not Fae. Fae was stronger for it, more alive, and occasionally even pleasant.

So Nyalana kept her secret, and Elphaba worked passionately, with a renewed sense of why life was worth preserving.

**************************************************

Elphaba woke with a start the next morning, sensing something was wrong. It was a vague feeling, which became sharper as her mind worked its way into consciousness. Elphaba sat up and threw back the blanket.

Her mind raced and her heart pounded as she flashed back more than three years.

_Blood._

_Blood on her thighs._

_Blood on the sheets._

She took a deep breath, forcing herself back into the present. She was safe, relatively, in the corn exchange, and she was simply bleeding as any woman bleeds.

_How long has it been?_ She asked herself, searching her memory for the last time her body had behaved in a remotely feminine fashion. Elphaba supposed it was some time after leaving Shiz behind, early in her days with Hadrick. He had acted disgusted, and refused to allow her to wash her clothes.

She got up and dressed herself, gathering up the sheets and nightdress. After shoving them into a ratty duffel, she scurried through the streets toward Sambwa's, arriving just as the sun cracked over the horizon.

The Gorilla answered sleepily, squinting her eyes to see who had awakened her.

Elphaba tumbled through the door, clutching her bundle and pacing erratically.

"Fae?" Sambwa's brow furrowed, "Fae, is something wrong? Is someone hurt?"

Elphaba shook her head, the loose pieces of her hair flying about.

"Then what in Oz name…?" The Gorilla questioned, mid-yawn.

"I…well……it appears my body has decided to behave like a woman, however contradictory it may seem. I may be green, but apparently I still bleed like everyone else." She threw out the words with sarcasm and nonchalance, to cover her great embarrassment. "And I am utterly unprepared for these…trivialities in life."

Sambwa took the bundle from her and wordlessly went to fetch what she needed, sparing Elphaba the need to explain or ask anything further.

When the green woman had calmed slightly, the Gorilla smirked a little and commented, "You'd think this was your first time, the way you panicked."

Elphaba twisted her fingers together in her customary fashion. "Well, it's been years…" She offered.

"Years?" The Gorilla looked at her incredulously.

Elphaba suddenly felt ridiculous, and she tried her best to explain her body's private affairs. "I've never been…like the other girls. I always supposed my body was fighting the very idea of being female. After the first time, it would be months in between, sometimes a year…" She trailed off, her cheeks burning. She despised having to ask for help, having to explain, but she knew Sambwa could help her better than she could help herself.

The Gorilla looked her straight in the eyes. "You're too thin," She stated, without question.

Elphaba looked confused.

Sambwa chuckled a little. "You're no less a woman than me, or Nyalana, or your own mother. You're just too thin, or you have been in the past. You have more curves now, and your body needs the weight to be able to bleed."

Elphaba was dumbfounded.

"Don't look at me as though I've grown another head," Sambwa laughed, "Even a poor, old hair dresser can know something about life sciences."

Elphaba nodded slightly, considering the idea.

"You've been eating better?" The Gorilla questioned.

Elphaba looked away, contemplating the meals she'd been cooking for Fiyero, and the way they lingered over food as though it were more than just a necessary thing to make it to the next day. She considered the things he brought her, treats only a Winkie prince could find and afford. She supposed she wasn't quite so thin anymore. She was still angular and sharp and far from soft, but perhaps gaunt no longer described her.

She smiled a little at Sambwa, grateful for both her help and the explanation.

The Gorilla sent Elphaba on her way sometime later, with a new bundle of clean garments to help her through the next few days. As she waived her out the door, Sambwa considered the changes in this strange, withdrawn, green woman she knew as Fae. She might be Animal, but Sambwa understood the nature of life and love. She saw the spark in Fae that only love could ignite. She could smell the scent of a man in the sheets and clothes Fae brought to have laundered. And now this. The Gorilla could only hope Fae understood something of the origin of infants.

_Otherwise, we may have a squalling little green one on our hands…_

Sambwa shook her head, concerned, but with very little right to interfere.

**************************************************

Elphaba kept Fiyero away for a few days. Against her own convictions, she used her involvement in the Resistance as a façade. When she let him come back, she held him tighter, longer and with less hesitation. Perhaps because she felt so much more feminine, more normal, and less like a green plant posing as a woman.

He brought her a gift, above and beyond the sweets and treats he lavished on her, sometimes quite literally. It was a scarf, dark and soft and exotic, and she felt like a goddess with the flowing, rich fabric draped across her emerald skin.

Elphaba was wrapped in it the night she first called him Yero.

She awoke in the depths of night, when the moon was full and bathed the exchange in an unusual, pearly glow. She caught him staring at her, his eyes deep and searching as he studied her body. She quickly pulled the blanket over herself, afraid of his perusal, and of being so exposed.

Elphaba pulled him down to her, and drowsily whispered, "Yero, my hero." It had been more subconscious than anything, and an attempt at distraction. The intensity and response in his eyes frightened her a little. He held her close, without lovemaking, like a cherished thing that threatened to shatter or vanish without warning.

Elphaba felt altogether unworthy of such devotion.

**************************************************

They argued the next time they were together, and Fiyero tried to make up for it by covering the corn exchange in the green and gold sparkle of Lurelinemas. Elphaba didn't much care for it, but she appreciated the gesture.

"I don't believe in religious feast days." She said it before thinking, and then felt guilty when he looked wounded.

"You have no soul," He threw out. She knew he meant it to be teasing, but she could see concern beneath his smile.

"You're right. I didn't think it showed," She answered, not meaning to darken the mood. She was still unable to consider that there was an eternal side to her wretchedness

"You're only playing at word games now," Fiyero tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to believe that she thought so little of herself that she would deny herself a soul.

Elphaba argued with him, somehow unable to let it go and give in to the frivolity of sex. She didn't want to matter so much to him. She was afraid of mattering that much. She was terrified of what she'd seen in his eyes the other evening, and of the way he clung to her, as though she were more than an integral cog in a greater cause. Elphaba understood how he made _her_ feel, how had awakened her and given her purpose and passion. Yet she hadn't considered how he felt in return. She was unwilling to consider that she might be valuable to him, that her life had some great significance to this exotic, Arjiki prince.

So Elphaba argued against having a soul, against valuing one single life so much, because the existence of a soul meant the possibility of more. The eternal nature of the soul mean there could be more beyond this life, with no guarantee that it was good. It could simply mean more pain, more strife, and more abuse. It also allowed for the possibility that her skin coloring penetrated her soul, and that she would be eternally green, in this life and beyond.

Elphaba considered soullessness to be far better than this verdigris.

Their conversations nagged at her throughout the evening, lingering in the back of her mind as they held each other. She was distracted, and she knew he could sense it. As they lay together in silence Fiyero watched her, concerned, but she simply turned away, weary of arguing her point. She rubbed her temples instead, desperately hoping to calm the pounding in her head.

Elphaba felt it coming before it struck, like a rushing, mighty wave that she could not prevent from overtaking her. The racking paroxysm was strong, gripping her body and silencing her, and scaring Fiyero nearly to death.

"Fae? Fae!" He called, receiving no response.

"Fae! Elphie!" He rolled her toward him and grasped her seizing hands.

"_Elphaba!_" His last cry was desperate, with the tone of a man who felt he was witnessing death.

She met his eyes, trying desperately to tell him she would be all right, hoping he might leave her alone, and yet not wanting him to leave her. She was as conflicted as her body, fighting against herself in so many ways.

Fiyero met her eyes and realized that she could see him, yet he still shook with panic. "Elphaba?" He started to stand, "I'll go for help..."

With all the strength and control she could muster, Elphaba grasped his wrist and jerked him back. Through tightly clenched teeth, she managed to mutter, "No." By the grace of the Unnamed God, he understood.

He tried to hold her, to calm her, yet she would have none of it. His touch stung as her body shook and seized beyond her control. She tried to speak, to send him away, for she was deeply ashamed at him seeing her so weak and pathetic and in the grip of her infirmity. The best she could manage was to utter, "You should go away, I'm not worthy of you." And then another wave of spasm overtook her.

Finally, when the moon was high, her body calmed itself, leaving her unable to move from the oppressive fatigue that followed. She was drenched in sweat, with the blankets clinging awkwardly and her hair matted from the struggle. Elphaba turned, and saw Fiyero looking down at her with concern and confusion. She turned away, and refused to look at him.

"Elphie?" His voice sounded small, like a child who had witnessed something new and frightening.

Elphaba couldn't respond, couldn't explain. How could she tell him that, for all the good she wished to do, she was full of so many vile things? There was no way to voice how, despite the good the doctor had done, he could not cure her of this lasting evidence of her deprecating past. In her fatigue and delirium, it seemed as though doing good was against her very nature, against something born into over which she had no control. It was as though the desire to work for good ran in direct contrast with whom nature intended her to be.

As Fiyero removed the saturated blankets and covered them both with winter coats, she turned and spoke drowsily, in a state of semi-consciousness, "I love you so much, Fiyero, you just don't understand: Being born with a talent or inclination for goodness is _the aberration._"

She meant it. She loved him with a power and a need she couldn't quite grasp when she was fully awake. Yet at dawn, her words were a fuzzy memory, and only Fiyero remembered clearly what she had said.

**************************************************

Elphaba was startled awake the following morning by a fierce banging on the door. She jumped up, ignoring her protesting body, and desperately wrapped her cloak around her nakedness. She ran for the door, seizing a knife from the counter and leaving Fiyero blinking and confused on the bedroll.

Elphaba wrenched open the door a few inches and peered into the stairway, the knife clutched tightly in her hand. She relaxed a little, when she saw Nyalana. Then she flushed a deep purple, when Nyalana's eyes widened at her appearance. She watched the Winkie girl take in her wildly disheveled hair and her bare shoulders above the cloak she clutched precariously. And then Nyalana caught sight of Fiyero over Elphaba's shoulder.

Recognition colored Nyalana's face, and she whispered, "Prince Fiyero, of the Arjikis…"

Elphaba raised the blade out of fear, and a little desperation, "He has no part in this. I won't have him involved. You will say nothing of this!"

Nyalana raised an eyebrow, perhaps having taken a page from Elphaba's book. "You don't need to threaten me. You know where my loyalty lies. Besides, who might I tell of this, without implicating myself in so many things?"

Elphaba considered this for a moment, but she refused to open the door. Several moments passed without any sound. Finally, Nyalana broke the silence.

"Big things are afoot. Meet us tomorrow, 9am. St. Aelphaba's this time." With that, she vanished into the shadows of the stairwell.

Elphaba stood, holding the door for a moment without moving. She had a sudden feeling of doom or dread, not exactly a premonition, but a churning inside her that said something very wrong was coming. She finally pressed the door closed, as Fiyero came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She was trembling.

"Fae…come back and lay down. You had a long night…" He tried to coax her.

"She knew you," Elphaba turned suddenly, "She knows you…"

"It's no wonder," Fiyero seemed less surprised, "I'm a Winkie prince, Elphaba. You and I have not managed to change that…"

Elphaba was quiet, resistant.

"I don't suppose I can know who 'she' is, can I," Fiyero asked, almost rhetorically.

"No!" She screamed louder than she intended. "You can't know any of them…you can't know anything! I've said to much already…you should go…this cannot be good…" Her words were rambling and terse.

Fiyero gently seized her shoulders, "Is she on your side of things, or is she not? Surely your co-conspirators, or however you call them, aren't out to see you hurt?"

Elphaba twisted her hands together, and then wrung them out nervously. She jerked her dress over her thin frame, tangling her hair in the buttons. She cursed, and then threw out, "You don't understand, you can't understand…"

"I would if you would tell me something!" There was frustration in his voice.

"I've told you, you cannot know anything of this! I myself don't even know everything involved! I know my part, I play my role! And now someone else has seen you! Recognized you, even! It cannot be good…it just cannot be good…" She was pacing now, and the last part she said almost to herself.

"Elphaba!" Fiyero tried to stop her ranting and incessant motion, tried to make her look in his eyes. "Elphie Fae…look at yourself!"

She refused to be stilled.

"You can't go on like this," He continued anyway, "Last night…you scared me. This life…it's making you sick."

Elphaba inhaled sharply, "It's not this life that is making me sick! I am not sick! I am not an invalid, or anything else that makes you think you can hold me and protect me and keep me from my mission! I am not a person, Prince Fiyero of the Arjikis!"

Fiyero stared at her for a long moment, looking both hurt and angry. She wasn't quite sure that she had meant it, or perhaps not all of it. Nyalana's recognition of Fiyero had coldly reminded her that they were more than two nameless, faceless people bound together by a raw, uncomplicated passion. He had a complete life, beyond her, a good life. She was angry with herself, for wanting him only for her, and for involving him in the danger that consumed her life. And beneath the anger, there was fear.

Her hands shook slightly, and she pushed the rest of his clothes at him as he carelessly dressed.

"You have to go." She didn't leave room for argument. Pulling and shoving, she forced him out the door, despite his protests.

He pressed against it, refusing to let her shut him out so quickly.

"Don't run from me, Elphie. I'm more than a pompous, air-headed prince. I didn't ask for my life anymore than you did." He held her eyes, until the intensity caused her to look away.

Elphaba finally pushed the door closed, when he had vanished. She leaned against it, her heart pounding for so many reasons. She caught sight of Malky, who plopped down from the rafters and padded over to the bedroll. He stared at her, with wide, unblinking green eyes. His silence said more than if he had spoken.

"Don't torment me!" She threw out, spinning erratically through the room with her dark skirts swirling around her. "I am not a woman, nor a person to be held down or held onto! I am a cog, a rivet, a tool in the mechanism!"

Malky watched her as she moved through the room with little purpose, "As a cog, do you never get tired of simply spinning?"

There was a long, deep silence, as Elphaba considered his words. She was angry with him, for always knowing what lay beneath her anger or insanity. She crossed the room and leaned against the counter, breathing hard as she tried to calm her reeling emotions. She caught sight of herself in the one murky window, and drew a sharp breath at the wild, crazed-looking figure who stared back at her. Her features were harder than usual, her eyes wide and her hair was tangled and matted. She frightened herself, and the glass reflected the war raging within her.

"You cannot do this forever," Malky's words cut through the palpable silence, "No soldier can fight forever in the same war." The Cat paused, considering his words, "Wouldn't you like for someone to take care of you, for a time?" Malky asked the question carefully.

Elphaba was shocked at the searing, stabbing need his words brought up in her. The feeling was there before she could ignore it or stamp it out. She wanted a measure of peace, to be held, without judgment, in the honesty of all that she was and had been. She wanted it so badly her throat ached with emotion and pent up sorrow. It frightened her most, this need. And then guilt followed, at the idea of abandoning the cause for which she was willing to give her life.

Malky continued, "If you're indeed a part, a tool, just a rivet in something greater, you can only do your part. You cannot take on the whole cause yourself. You make the contribution you can make, fight your battles, and then pass it on. Let someone else carry the standard."

Elphaba was deathly silent for a moment, before she leveled her gaze at him. "I will never rest, until Animals have the rights with which they were born," She stopped for a moment, and her eyes softened a little, "Can't you see? It's as much a fight for myself, as it is for you…"

She swept toward the door, then threw back as she jerked it open, "They never wanted me to speak, either."

With that she disappeared, and the Cat was alone.

She didn't come back that night, and Malky worried, knowing she was wandering alone in the dark. She was caught in the conflict between the wants she could not deny, and the responsibility she felt to correct an oppression she had met at birth.

**************************************************

Elphaba stumbled into the alley behind St. Aelphaba's the next morning, bleary-eyed and feeling altogether inhuman. She was wrapped thoroughly in black, and she startled Nyalana with the intensity in her eyes.

"Big things?" Elphaba questioned immediately, not finding much value in patience at the moment.

Nyalana looked her over without speaking. "I worry for you…" She finally whispered.

"I am not your concern," Elphaba spat vehemently, "worrying for me is a waste of time, time that's better spent at our cause."

"An Arjiki prince knows where you live, knows where we often meet. Have you not considered the ramifications of that? Suppose they take his wife, and his children, or suppose they take him? He knows…which means he can tell. Even if he doesn't want to…there are certain things that will make anyone give up their secrets…" It seemed to Elphaba that there was emphasis on the word _wife._

"Are you playing at blame, now? Or trivial moral technicalities, when we deal in murder every day?" Elphaba's words were venomous.

Nyalana's gaze was hard, "I just don't want to find you, or him, dead."

Elphaba's stomach churned, and she spat, "Why? Because I've endangered one of your own? You wish me happiness until you discover with whom I might have found that happiness. Or are you just resentful that your Winkie prince prefers the company of the strange, green woman over the wife who was forced upon him?"

Nyalana didn't speak, and her stare was fixed on her co-conspirator, her friend. The Winkie girl's eyes were a mix of fear, anger, and uncertainty. Yet she said nothing, and turned to enter the church. Elphaba followed, silent and yet troubled.

They made their way into the shadows of the rear of the church, where they ducked into a darkened prayer room. They waited, in silence, until the very walls themselves seemed to speak from the lack of movement or sound. At last, in a cloak of darkness, a voice spoke to them.

"I want the green one first."

Elphaba bristled at this description, but swallowed the burst of pride as Nyalana ducked from the room. She then stood, waiting.

"You dabble in sorcery, Miss Fae?"

Elphaba felt her fingers tingle, at this knowledge the voice possessed.

"I am of minimal skill," She answered.

"You are stronger than you think."

There was a pause, and she said nothing.

"You are to take the book on the table and follow the marked spell carefully. It takes some skill, to produce the explosive power you will need. You will then go to the theater on Lurelinemas Eve and use what you have created. You will be a diversion, a cloud of destruction behind which your companions will work. Your target is Headmistress Morrible of Shiz University. She churns out nothing but brainwashed puppets for the Wizard. Your cell will take her down," There was a pause, "You have been entrusted with much, the Resistance hopes to see much in return."

Elphaba swallowed hard. It was the most she'd ever heard from any of her veiled instructors. Big things were afoot, indeed.

"I understand," She whispered.

As she turned to leave, the voice spoke once more, "We cannot protect you, or anyone else you have involved in your life."

Elphaba barely nodded, and fled the room. She left the church in a flurry of black, spilling onto the street and then tearing through the city. She wandered aimlessly for some time, feeling as though she were swirling in a vortex, being pulled toward the dark center. Yet she was powerless to stop the spinning. She felt powerful and futile at the same time, as though for all her great contributions to the Resistance, she was powerless to change her own fate.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Elphaba threw herself into her work, pouring over the spell book she had been given, determined to master the instructed spell. She worked into the wee hours of the night, and found herself bedraggled and nauseous each morning. She was all but useless during the day, often falling asleep where she stood and then snapping awake muttering snatches of spells.

She knew Fiyero must sense she was involved in something overwhelming. Elphaba found herself holding him tighter, more fiercely, and then subsequently pushing him away. Her mood swings were erratic, and she would long for his company and then hurry him out the door as her mind became consumed with a frustrating piece of her spell.

For Elphaba, this assignment was a turning point. It was a chance to prove that she was a worthy sorceress, and a vital member of the Resistance. It was a chance to pay back both wrongs done to her and the Animals. This mission had real outcomes for her, as it would ensure that Morrible could no longer lie, twist, and manipulate the truth to further the Wizard's agenda. Elphaba wanted this to work with an intensity that burned beneath her skin.

Finally, when she felt she was finally grasping the key elements of her spell, she allowed Fiyero to return after several days absence. She had spent most of the day asleep on the bedroll out of pure exhaustion. So that night, she held him fiercely, desperately even, as though taking him in filled her with courage and strength. Then they slept, huddled under blankets in the moonlight.

The following morning, Elphaba woke him early, while it was still dark. She rose and boiled water for coffee over the stove, being careful not to splash. Fiyero watched her sleepily, and then rose when the aroma of the warm coffee wafted over him. Elphaba watched him steal a little of Malky's milk, and the Cat hissed for good measure. She could see the corner of Malky's mouth twitch in a smile, and she knew he was only playing at being feline.

Elphaba then sat with the blanket wrapped protectively around her, and reached for the coconut oil. She worked some into her hands and rubbed her shoulders slowly, working out the knots that had formed endless hours of leaning over ancient books. She took a deep breath, knowing Fiyero would argue with her next request.

"A fortnight, my dear. My pet, as my father used to say. I need a fortnight of privacy now." She made an attempt at a playful tone, hoping the pet name would soften his argument.

"No! That's not on, Fae-Fae. It's _not_ all right, it's too long." Fiyero protested shamelessly, seeming all the more desperate to hold onto her.

She tried to argue with him, tried to offer a measure of the importance of her mission. Yet he pressed harder this time, refusing to be content with just a vague explanation as to what her mission entailed. She talked around and about her plans and their importance, trying her best to make him see that his striving to protect her life did little for the greater moral good. Then he struck a nerve, when he suggested the unthinkable.

"Fae," He started, "Elphaba. Do you really not know who is pulling the strings that make you move? How do you know you're not being manipulated by the _Wizard?_"

She bristled at this, her claws bared and her anger flaring as she snuffed out the possibility that she could be a pawn for the despicable leader of Oz. Elphaba told him exactly how wrong he was, and finished her tirade by spitting out, "Give me the credit for having spent some _years _at this, Fiyero."

"You can't tell me for sure who is or isn't the boss," He threw the words out coldly, his eyes dark and full of concern.

Elphaba tried a different tactic. She allowed the blanket to fall from her shoulders as she worked more oil over her skin. She moved slowly, giving him a sultry view of her working the smooth liquid over her bare skin.

"Papa didn't know the name of his Unnamed God," She nearly purred, "It never is the _who_, is it? It's always the _why_."

"How do you hear?" Fiyero's tone lost some of its sharpness, as he couldn't help but watch her work with the oil, "How do they tell you what to do?"

"Look, you know I can't say," She dropped her voice to a lower, more sensual volume and caught his eye over her shimmering, green shoulder.

"I know you _can_," He still would not give in.

She turned, panicked at being unable to deter him from this questioning, and threw out, "Oil my breasts, will you?" She had tried to sound casual, but her voice shook with uncertainty.

Fiyero looked at her, amazed, concerned, and somewhat shocked all in the same moment. She had never allowed him this privilege before, and she could see he wanted it. He was smart enough to see the motive, though. "I'm not that _stupidly_ male, Elphaba," He defended, even though deep down he was, with her.

"Yes you are," She laughed awkwardly, but was pleased that it was working, "Come on…" She held out the bottle.

He came to her, then, finally losing the will to argue. She was that stubborn, that hard, and it made him adore her.

Elphaba lay back carefully, unsure of exactly what she had gotten herself into. She realized that their time together had softened her, pulled down her guard and opened her heart to new things. She still would not look at her own reflection, but in the moment she realized how much she trusted him. As Fiyero took the oil in his hands and smoothed it over the curves and angles of her body, she relaxed. She allowed her eyes to close. She even wondered why she had not allowed this sooner, how she had lived without the feeling of him working his strong hands over her fatigued body like her own great healer. She trusted him enough that, in the moment, she had forgotten about the stove, which cast a warm, flickering light over the room.

Fiyero worked the oil over her abdomen, over the curve of her hip. Subconsciously, her legs fell open as he smoothed the oil over her leg to the inside of her thigh. And then he gasped, and in a second she registered what he had seen.

"Sweet Oz! Elphie…what in the name of…?" He wasn't able to finish the question as she lunged from the bed as if he were the predator and she the prey. She took the blanket with her, clutching it tightly over herself.

Such was the state of her panic that she shrieked, "No! You weren't supposed to…I mean you can't…I told you never to…you must go!" She pointed a trembling finger toward the door, "Go, now! Get out! You've ruined it now, and you must go!"

"Elphie…" Fiyero reached for her, extending his arms toward her as one would toward a small, frightened animal.

"Go! Please, just leave me!" She was screaming, caution abandoned in her frantic state.

"Elphaba, I never meant to sound so alarmed! It was just shock, not anger or disgust…" He tried to reason.

"Just get out!" She would not budge.

"Fae…" He dropped his arms, "I can't leave you…I love you."

Something snapped in her, and she felt the tears rushing behind her eyes. So she screamed louder, knowing it was the only way to keep the tears from falling. "You can't love me! I mean you can't, and you can't! I will not allow you to put that much value on my insignificant life! I should never have let you in, never should have selfishly taken from you. It's all such selfishness…and what I thought made me stronger has made you weaker and has you grasping at my life as though it were something to be saved! I am a _tool_, Fiyero! I perform a service, I meet a need! I am marked for the service I provide. I'm a _whore_, Fiyero!" Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, "And nothing you can do can take it away, or make me more than that."

Fiyero stood, stunned, and said nothing. His heart wrenched, but he could make no words come out.

"Just go," She had turned from him, as though she couldn't bear to see him as he left her behind.

He put the pieces together, suddenly able to fill in the gaps. There was her refusal to allow him to see her, to explore all of her body, her sometimes irrational fear of him, and the anger and indifference she used to cover it. He thought of her pitifully poor opinion of herself and her worth. Even her paroxysm now seemed clearly tied to some horrific event in her past. It all made sense. It made horrible, execrable, nauseating sense. Suddenly, he was angry that someone had dared to defile this beautiful, unique, emerald goddess in the way he had seen on the insides of her thighs.

"Who did this, Elphie? I swear to Lurline, I will kill them myself! I'm a hunter, and I do not miss…"

"You think it's that easy?" She was pacing erratically, trembling and shrieking, "You think that would make it better? Do you honestly think that would change who I am? Would it really ever make you see me differently?"

"I don't see you differently now!" He tried to protest.

"Oh please!" She spat, "I can see it in your face! Disgust is not easy to hide!"

"If it's disgust, it's toward him! Elphie I could never-" She cut him off.

"Are you ready to murder scores of men? Because that is what it would take!" Elphaba threw out details without restraint now, hoping to disgust him enough to make him leave quickly, and leave her with her shame. "Besides," She hissed, "the one who marked me is already dead."

Fiyero moved toward her and tried stop her frantic movement. She pulled from him, and he tried again. This time, she shoved him, flailing about as she tried to keep the blanket around herself and assault him at the same time.

"No, no!" She screamed as he half-chased her around the room, "Go, go! Because you can't…you won't…you couldn't…"

He seized her, and his size worked in his favor. He lifted her and carried her to the bedroll. Fiyero wrapped his arms around her so she could not flee as she wailed illogically, "I am a whore…a whore…an aberration…I am _the_ aberration!"

He held her until she was quiet, and he was quite afraid she'd completely given herself over to insanity. Yet, as goes the heart of one so deeply in love, he would not leave her. Not if she lost her senses and ran shrieking naked through the streets. He loved her that much.

Fiyero looked at her, so still and quiet and tormented, and he could see tears pooling in her eyes. He could see her swallowing savagely to keep them from flowing. And suddenly, he had nothing less than a revelation.

_She never cries, _It struck him hard, as he remembered Galinda's description of their last moments together, _It's the water…she has no release other than this madness…_

So he took a risk, not knowing if she would slap him and run from him, or curse him and disappear forever. All Fiyero knew is that he could not watch this suffering any longer. He kissed her, long and full on her unresponsive mouth, and dashed across the room to rifle through his belongings. He had taken to leaving things here, as he often spent several nights in a row. At the bottom of the supplies he had purchased for his trip back to the Vinkus, he found what he was looking for. He crossed the room and sat beside her again, and turned her face toward him.

Elphaba shoved his hands away, her eyes stormy.

Fiyero tried again. "In the Vinkus, we often hunt in the rain, when necessary," He tried to make his voice soothing, "The weather can be harsh, from blazing sun to blinding rain and searing snowfalls. It's as extreme as the jagged landscape. When it rains as such, we have to protect our weapons, lest they rust and become useless. On one of our trips to the city, we ran across a peddler who'd discovered a compound that seemed quite useless," Fiyero carefully unscrewed the top to the canister in his hands, "Yet what was useless to him was invaluable to us," He carefully dipped his finger in the colorless, smooth paste and spread it gently over her cheek. She jerked backward, but his eyes held her and she stilled.

"It repels water," He continued as he worked the stuff over her face with the same tenderness as he had spread the oil, "and it wipes clean. It's very effective, and our weapons are never ruined."

There was a long, thick silence as she stared at him, searching his eyes. Elphaba herself wasn't sure what she was looking for. Motive? Sincerity? Hope? Or did it matter? She reached up and delicately touched her face, unsure. She finally looked at him, and he could see the tears within her.

"Cry Elphie," He whispered, "You've earned it."

Fiyero held his breath as she let two wet droplets fall and work their way over her face, and he saw the realization that they did not burn her. Her saw her façade crack as she let the tears flow, spilling them onto the blanket as a lifetime of anger, sorrow and wrongdoing burst from her.

Elphaba collapsed onto the floor, bent over so that the great torrents of tears fell to the floorboards. Her shoulders heaved and shook as the sobs overtook her. She had never felt such great release as she allowed so much pain to flow through her and from her. It hurt. It hurt so bad she wailed and cried out, and yet the agony poured from her instead of festering within. She cried for the father who stoically used her as an example of sin. She cried for the mother she lost too soon. She cried for Galinda, whom she loved so much, and for the friends she'd left behind. She cried for the Animals, and the loss of so many nameless innocents who did not deserve their fate. And she wailed for the loss of her own innocence, for the way she'd been so harshly used and tossed out.

Fiyero wrapped his arms around her for minutes, hours, whatever it took.

Finally, from the wracking sobs, she sputtered in a hoarse whisper, "He raped me, Fiyero. They raped me. Two hundred and twelve times," She wouldn't look at him, and he sensed her confession was not just meant for him.

Fiyero's heart broke for her, as he finally understood so much.

_How could they? _He asked himself useless questions, _How could anyone…_

And he held her close, as the sobs overtook her again.

**************************************************

Elphaba lost track of how many times she'd given herself over to sobbing. Each time it seemed she'd run out of tears, her heart would find another pocket of stored, festering grief. Finally, she collapsed into Fiyero, her head spinning and aching. Her throat was raw, her eyes burned, and she was trembling. Her breath came in racking wheezes as she tried to calm herself. Fiyero took a cloth and wiped her face clean, taking the tears and the glorious film of paste away. Then he wrapped his arms around her as she lay against him and stared at the ceiling.

When her breathing had calmed somewhat, Elphaba turned suddenly and pressed her lips to his in a long, slow kiss. It was not so much sensual as it was loving and reassuring, as though she needed to compensate for having assaulted him earlier. When she pulled away, he looked at her, taking her in. He lifted his hands and traced the sharp line of her jaw. He lovingly ran a finger over her expressive mouth and then across the angles of her nose and cheeks. Then his hands found her hair, and he pulled them through it, twining it around his fingers. It fell to her waist now, and Fiyero found it held the scent of the oils, a scent he could identify anywhere as simply _Elphaba._

Suddenly, she pulled herself in to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and circled her arms around his shoulders. She still clutched the blanket around her, and it enveloped them. Fiyero was startled at first, yet he quickly realized the significance of what she had done. Elphaba was holding tight to him, like a life preserver in a vicious storm. He wrapped his arms tightly around her small frame and held her, wordlessly, understanding the tenuous nature of the moment. Fiyero knew that Elphaba was not one to lean on others, to ask for help or admit any kind of weakness. Her need for love or kindness, or perhaps simply touch, must be incredibly great for her to have made herself this vulnerable. The events of the morning gripped him, and he found tears in his own eyes. Fiyero understood that he was incredibly privileged to witness this Elphaba. To be this way with her sexually was one thing, but for her to wrap herself around him in this incredibly needy, child-like way was very different. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he was the only person who would ever hold her this way, who would ever know her this way. It was overwhelming, for someone who was usually so lackadaisical about things.

So they stayed that way for a long time, with their heartbeats close and falling into rhythm. Fiyero had never managed to get his shirt back on, and the heat of skin pressed against skin warmed them, like a healing cocoon beneath the blanket. Some time later, when the sun began to crest over the horizon and cast the room in a soft, cerulean glow, Elphaba pulled back. She pulled the blanket over the bare skin of her chest and moved her mouth as though to speak, but no words came out. She stared over his shoulder, as though deeply considering something.

"Fae?" He finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I wish," She started, her voice low and gravelly, "I wish…that I were beautiful. Not for me, for you, because that's what you deserve…"

"Fae..." Fiyero interrupted, but she cut him off.

"Don't lie to me. We are what we are. You are a beautiful, Arjiki prince, and I am cursed with this verdigris…" She looked down at her hands, studying their color in the soft light. Fiyero raised her face gently and pushed her hair back, as if to see her better.

"Fae…Elphaba, do you know what verdigris is?" He asked.

She rolled her eyes, some of the hardness returning to her features. "Of course I know what it is! I've lived with it my entire life." She looked cross, as though he had broken a spell.

Fiyero took her hands, "Not as it applies to you, sweet Fae. Verdigris in nature."

She looked at him, both perplexed and wary at the same time.

Fiyero allowed himself a tiny smile. "Verdigris is what happens to copper when it's exposed to weather."

Elphaba looked at him as though he might have lost his mind. She pulled away from him and sat on the edge of the bedroll. She found herself slightly annoyed, that he was choosing to ramble on about such nonsense.

Fiyero sensed her agitation and tried again. "Copper is incredibly soft, for a metal. It's malleable and easily shaped, but it's not very strong. It can't withstand much on its own. When it's exposed to rain and wind and such, its chemical makeup changes, and it forms what is called verdigris. It is very hard, very strong, and very enduring. It is also very green."

Elphaba cocked on eyebrow up, still uncertain. Yet there was a glimmer in her eyes that was new.

"Elphie, if anything, verdigris is a sign of strength. It is what happens when something has been through a storm, and changes itself to come out better and stronger, rather than giving in. You are not an aberration, you are strength itself."

She looked at him, considering his words and their subsequent meaning.

"I don't feel strong today," She finally answered him, her voice unusually soft.

"Sometimes what we feel doesn't change who we are," Fiyero seemed shocked at his own wisdom, as though he had never made the effort to think this deeply about things before.

To Elphaba, it was endearing. She hesitated before speaking, considering her words carefully. Confession did not come naturally to her. "I have often wondered, even dreamed, of a place where there is no color, perhaps beyond the rainbow. It was somewhat of a childhood fancy, imagining a place where color faded to black and white. In such a place, my skin color would cease to matter. I dreamed of it once, and do you know what?"

It was Fiyero's turn to look curious.

"I was still green. In a world completely devoid of color, this pigment prevailed. It seemed like a sign, of the strength of my unusual nature, or of my sins." She trailed off, as if both remembering and contemplating in the same moment.

"Maybe it's just a sign of your strength. Period," Fiyero suggested quietly.

"Maybe I'm truly not meant for this world," She threw out.

"Then I'll leave it behind, because this world is nothing without you in it."

Elphaba turned from him to hide her deep blush of embarrassment. She gasped, when he seized her hand and pulled her to her feet. He pulled her over to the one window, which had been boarded over from the outside. As Elphaba knew quite well, it reflected almost as clearly as a mirror. Fiyero pointed to her reflection and nearly pleaded with her.

"Elphie, try to see what I see…" He didn't realize the significance of what he had done, and Elphaba found herself too shocked to look away. "I see a woman," He continued, "I see your strong sexuality, as any man would, and I see your strong will, as everyone should. I see skin that makes me want to touch and a heart that makes me want to love harder than I thought I could. I see the face of the woman I love, and I see this hair, which is so rich and wonderful it makes me want to wrap myself in it. I see my Elphie, my Fae. And she is beautiful."

Elphaba's breath caught, and she thought she might cry again. She held back though, as she allowed herself to look at her reflection. Carefully, almost fearfully, she dropped the blanket from where she clutched it around her waist, so that she stood naked. He had no reason to lie to her, nothing to gain by showering her with such compliments. In fact, he stood to lose the most in this affair. So she tried to look through his eyes, tried to see things a different way. It might have been the light, or the way she straightened up with just a little confidence, or the spark of hope in her eyes, but she saw it. She saw that she was beautiful, in her way. And she was quite surprised.

Elphaba looked at the reflection of both of them, green against deep brown, speckled with blue diamonds. Suddenly she was filled with something warm and strong and wonderful. In the beautiful collage of their bodies, she did not see her scars.

She pulled away from him and moved to sit on the bedroll. Dropping her reticence like the blanket, she reached for the oil again and held out her hands to him, inviting him to finish what he had begun. Just as she lay back against her makeshift pillow, the sun crested over the horizon and filled the exchange with a warm, brilliant light. It poured over Elphaba's body, giving her a golden, green glow.

He had never seen her like this, and Fiyero was surprised at the strength of his desire for her. It was as though it was their first time again, or as though he were a nervous bridegroom seeing his bride for the first time. She reached for him, and he went to her, pressing himself against her as he took some oil in his hand. Fiyero pulled her up from the bedroll and worked the oil over her shoulders to her breasts, studying the curves and lines of her in this new light. He buried his face in her hair and took in the scent of her as he worked the oil over her back. He allowed his hands to slide down over her buttocks to the place where her thighs pressed together.

Elphaba made a noise in the back of her throat, a sort of moan, and gripped him tightly. He stopped and looked in her eyes, as if to seek permission, and she simply pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his neck. So Fiyero allowed his hands to continue past the curve of her buttocks to the folds between her legs. He explored her, felt her, and gently caressed her, forgetting about the hideous scars she had tried so desperately to hide.

She suddenly pulled back, as it became too much for her. "I have four companions," Her words spilled out as she tried to cover her uncertainty with the distraction of confession, "Oh heart, I have four comrades; they don't know who our cell leader is, it's all done in the dark, with a masking spell to shadow the voice and distort the features. If I knew more, the Gale Force could catch me and torture it out of me, don't you see?"

Fiyero looked into her eyes, and she could tell he knew she was confessing only as a means of distracting his hands. He brought them back up to her face. "We have a lifetime…" He kissed her, and she wondered at his exact meaning, yet she did not ask.

"What is your object?" Fiyero asked as he loosened his trousers.

"Kill the wizard," She breathed into his ear.

Elphaba wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down onto the bedroll. She poured out the rest of the coconut oil and worked it over his body. She felt alive and charged and full of a new spark, a drive she could barely contain. She wanted him with a force that overwhelmed her and made her ache. She felt free and strong, as though she had cast off some invisible shackles and could feel more purely than before. She could see that it scared Fiyero a little, yet he tipped his head back and moaned at her touch as she explored his body with wild abandon. She clutched her fingers in his hair as he worked his hands over her stomach and between her thighs to drive her body into an aching frenzy. They tumbled together, their bodies glistening from the oil and the sweat from the heat of their passion. And then she took him in, deep and full and without restraint. They rocked together, moving and holding each other in a tumultuous maelstrom of touch. Elphaba felt him harden within her, felt herself slip over that glorious chasm of pleasure that racked her body, this time without hesitation.

Fiyero trembled, and she could feel his chest heaving. This time, she did not push him away, did not curl up beneath the blanket to hide. She looked in his eyes and felt what he had meant with regard to verdigris. She felt strong and powerful and very female. She felt like a woman and revolutionary. She felt colorful and wild and free.

She was ready.


	20. Chapter 20

**So...I decided, while reading and editing A Time for Rain, that these chapters belonged at the end of this story. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so I always go back and edit my stuff. If you've never read this, or A Time for Rain...enjoy.**

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**Chapter 20**

The morning of Lurelinemas Eve, Elphaba had awoken wondering what she could have possibly done to her stomach for it to betray her so horribly. She was bent over a basin, vomiting until her body was utterly empty and drained.

_It's just nerves,_ she told herself, _because today will change your life, change so many lives…_

She finally rose, finding her legs shaky and unsteady. She sank into a chair at the table and forced herself to sip the tea she had made. She had mixed it with a little ginger, which seemed to help the nausea. Elphaba carefully fingered the glass vials that lay on the table as she ran the complex spell through her mind. It was the culmination of weeks of work and many sleepless nights. This project had tested the mettle of her sorcery ability. Yet here it was before her, the combination of spell and chemistry that would change Morrible's fate, and hopefully make them one step closer to eliminating the Wizard. Elphaba itched with anticipation for what the evening would bring.

She took several deep, slow breaths, determined to rid herself of the nausea. It had been plaguing her every morning for nearly a week, as the mission became more imminent. Elphaba attributed it to nerves over the impending events.

When she felt she had control over her stomach, Elphaba left the corn exchange, slipping out into the bright, cold, winter sunlight. She had the glass of her magicked contraption tucked close to her body, wrapped in the folds and layers of her dress and cloak. She meandered around the city for quite some time, using up daylight and hopefully losing anyone who'd had the patience, or tenacity, to follow her. She felt alone, but she couldn't underestimate the perseverance of the Gale Force, or the secrecy of the Wizard.

By sunset, she trembled with anticipation and impatience. Elphaba found herself in St. Glinda's square, and on impulse ducked into the chapel there. She slipped into the shadows toward the back of the church and stood against the cool stone wall for a few long moments. It was quiet, with only the distant whispers of praying saints and the guttering of candles. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to hope, to wish, to desperately want her mission to be a success. It was the closest thing to a prayer Elphaba could muster. She half-wished for Eliana to appear and offer some deep, spiritual wisdom, or at least help her to stop trembling. Yet the maunt was nowhere to be seen.

Elphaba scurried from the church as the sun slipped behind the horizon, and she began to make her way across the city again. She took a long, winding course, feeling the fatigue from the day of walking, but was determined to distract or disinterest anyone who might be curious enough to follow her. She made her way through Oz Deer Park and the great cemetery beyond. She cut off of Shiz Road through Goldhaven, wondering if perhaps Fiyero's family had a fashionable residence in this area. She felt certain Galinda's family did, and she smiled a little half-smile at the memory. It gave her a warm feeling now, to remember her golden friend who had first told her she was beautiful.

Finally, Elphaba spotted the theater she was searching for. Lit up with holiday lights and garlands, it looked almost inviting. Spectators gathered and sang carols, giving the atmosphere a festive warmth. As she studied the people, Elphaba took a deep breath. She knew there would be injuries, but she hoped her skill was great enough not to cause any fatalities. Except one.

In the shadows, behind the scenes, awaited her companions. She potted Besnik trotting back and forth in the alley beside the theater, pretending to rummage for garbage. Elphaba knew nothing else of the others, or their missions, except that they were here. She took a deep breath and pulled her hat down low over her brow. Her breath was warm and heavy beneath the scarves used to conceal her face. The street lamps picked up the patchwork colors of her dress, making it glint blue, red, and black in the evening light.

Elphaba wandered amongst the theatergoers, trying to blend with the crowd. She checked the clocktower that rose from the school building next door, and then scoured the crowd for any sign of her target. The ticking of the clock seemed to become louder, pounding out the minutes as they passed with agonizing slowness. When she saw a group of Gale Force officers arrive, her heart leapt in her throat. Increased security could only mean that royalty, or someone of great political influence, was arriving. She scuttled up the stairs of a worn and aging gazebo, taking refuge in the shadows it provided.

When Elphaba saw the carriage coming up the street, she froze, knowing in her very marrow that this was Morrible. Her heart pounded in her ears as she readied her agile hands for a delicate task. The Headmistress swept from the carriage in a cloud of ostentation and pompous snobbery. She captivated the crowd, if only because of her formidable size and harsh features.

Elphaba worked frantically beneath her cloak, uncorking and shaking the vials to ready them for her spell. She was so engrossed, so focused, that she didn't see the children until they swarmed through the street in front of her. Her heart constricted, her hands froze, and her teeth ground together in sudden unbelief and panic. She knew what she should do, what a true revolutionary would do, but she could not make herself move. Elphaba knew that the explosive power of her spell would be far too great for the children to survive, and they were much too close, closer than the crowd of theatergoers.

_They are future society dames, being bred for snobbery and prejudice and malice, just as those before them, _she told herself, and yet one striking, dark-haired, fair-skinned girl caught her eye, and she could almost imagine it was Nessa…

Elphaba stood, statuesque, as the crowd of squealing girls surrounded Morrible and swept her into the theater. The Headmistress didn't disengage from the throng of children until she had crossed the threshold of the theater doors, which had been thrown open at last.

Elphaba's breath caught, her stomach dropped, and she swallowed hard over tears of frustration. She slumped back against the pillar of the gazebo and began to tremble.

Then she ran.

With her skirts flying out behind her, she pounded through the wooded park just behind the gazebo until it opened to the edge of the Gillikin Forest. She ran until her lungs burned and her muscles cramped, and she fell untidily onto the grassy forest floor.

The scarves had come loose in her frenzy, and Elphaba tore them away from her face, casting them and her hat to the ground with far more force than was necessary. Then she clenched her fists and screamed in frustration.

Elphaba had failed, and she did not consider failure an option. She knew she should be back at the scene of her mission, looking for her companions and regrouping. She knew that Nyalana, Besnik, and Sun would be looking for her, yet she could not make herself face them. Not yet. She had never failed. Not once had she failed to deliver, or blow up, or act out whatever assignment she was given. Her self-loathing was so great she trembled, and then she picked up rocks and sticks, and flung them at the trees until she collapsed in exhaustion.

When her anger was finally spent, Elphaba realized she felt a deep and aching desire for Fiyero. As selfish, idealistic, and pathetic it was, she knew he would hold her close, and perhaps even let her cry it out. She hated the weakness of it, but lately she had been forced to make a sort of peace with her humanity. So she turned and trudged back to the corn exchange, knowing she would have much explaining to do when her companions gathered in the morning.

* * *

Elphaba was barely awake when she finally trudged back up to the exchange. She was grimy and disheveled, and she carried her vials dejectedly in one hand. As she walked the last few blocks, she pulled off her hat, knowing little attention would be paid to her here.

When she approached the exchange, Elphaba bristled, feeling an odd sensation. And then she realized the door was ajar. She was angry at first, knowing that Fiyero must surely have come looking for her in spite of her request that he stay home. Then a cold stab of fear pierced her, as she realized Fiyero would never have left the door ajar. He loved her too much to leave her vulnerable.

Elphaba approached carefully, torn between storming inside and fleeing the scene altogether. Her stomach twisted and churned as she soundlessly swung the door open and crept up the stairs with the deftness of a cat. She couldn't help becoming somewhat feline, with mostly just Malky for company.

At the top of the narrow stairs, the door to her meager home stood open just enough to let a sliver of pale moonlight creep into the stairwell. There were muffled voices, and Elphaba pressed herself back into the blackness of the alcove just behind the door. The voices wafted from the room, and she caught snatches of the conversation.

_I thought you said it was a 'she'?_

_It was…it should have been. 'She'...he definitely said 'she'._

_Well he is clearly not a 'she'!_

_How should I have known, what with the cape and all…_

_Well he must be party to it…why else would he be here?_

_We can't very well go back and report…this…_

_What difference does it make? One of them is dead…_

At the word 'dead', Elphaba froze. Her blood ran cold and she felt bile at the back of her throat.

_We have to kill her…she's a wicked sorceress, perhaps a witch even…_

_Then we say she's dead…perhaps this carnage will scare her off anyway. It's enough to frighten the dead…_

_And if she resurfaces?_

_She's a sorceress, is she not? Blame it on her power…as a witch…_

Elphaba was trembling so badly she thought surely they could hear her bones rattling. Her heart pounded in her head to the point that she began to feel faint. She swallowed against the bile and clenched her teeth. Just then, four men clumped through the door, trying to be silent in their heavy-toed, Gale Force boots. She caught the glimmer of their well-decorated uniforms in the moonlight. They wore dark cloaks, perhaps to protect the uniforms, and they glimmered with something wet.

Elphaba swallowed hard, once they were gone. The silence was deafening, and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and swing open the door to her home. Her eyes focused slowly in the moonlight, and then her head spun.

There was blood. More blood than she had ever seen. Blood spatter covered the walls, the table, her books, the bedroll, even the skylight above. Lying just beyond the table was Fiyero, and he was motionless. Elphaba ran to him, stumbling over a chair and tripping herself up in her skirts. She dropped her hat and the vials as she collapsed onto him. She cupped his face and bent over him, listening for breath or any sign of life. He was covered in blood, and his dark skin was stained from the sheer amount of it. It was matted in his hair and pooled around him.

Fiyero's hand twitched and Elphaba felt a spark of hope that death might not have taken him just yet. Still, she knew there was little she could do to change things now. Having spent some years in life sciences, Elphaba knew that she was powerless to keep him alive, giving the extent of his injuries. The realization overwhelmed her, and she collapsed across him.

"Fiyero…" her voice was a tiny whimper, like a kitten mewing helplessly. A pair of tears trailed down her face, and she winced at the pain. And then she was sick.

Elphaba stumbled to the washbasin and vomited, although there was very little left in her stomach to expel. When the dry heaving subsided, she clutched her arms around her body. She ached, deep within the core of her being.

She rose and stumbled over to her books, flipping erratically for any spell that could conjure up life, or reverse such destruction. Her fingers left bloody prints as she tried to work magick, yet it was in vain. She chanted spell after spell, hoping against hope that something could change the circumstances, or even time itself. She shut her eyes and willed both herself and Fiyero away. She focused on her place beyond the rainbow, where they might live free from such tragedy.

_Let him be anywhere but here, any place but this place of death and destruction…_she pleaded with the universe itself.

Yet, for all Elphaba's chanting, it became apparent that death is final, death is irreparable. Death was so powerful that all the sorcery of Oz could not change it.

She finally flung the books against the wall. Elphaba gathered up her hat, cloak, and broom. She desperately needing to do something other than sit and wallow in unbearable grief. On impulse, she also tore the glass orb down from where it hung above her head. Without looking back, she pounded down the stairs and spilled into the dusty first floor room of the exchange.

_I'll kill them! _Elphaba told herself, _I will kill them myself! If it costs me my life, I will storm the palace and take the Wizard down!_

Then she saw her hands, covered in the crimson wetness of Fiyero's blood. She followed the trail down to her dress, which was tacky. She saw the fingerprints on her hat and broom, and caught the scent of blood around her. Elphaba realized she could nowhere like this.

She tried to straighten her clothing, tried in vain to wipe the blood from her hands. Then, she realized there was blood in her hair. Elphaba pulled her fingers through it, and found it was hopelessly matted. She was covered in death, covered in sorrow and pain and the sick finality that Fiyero was gone.

Her vision swam and her head spun. Suddenly, Elphaba flashed back illogically, to a time when Fiyero's hands had been in her hair. He had told her she was beautiful and had wanted to be wrapped in the exotic scent of her dark tresses. She could almost feel how his fingers had tangled in it as he'd made love to her, and then held her through the storms of her emotions.

Something welled up and snapped within her, and Elphaba hurt so badly she thought only death could relieve the pain. Just then, her eyes fell on a rusted, forgotten blade that had been used in cutting twine from bales of grains. She seized it in one hand, and took hold of a shock of her hair with the other. With great, swooping movements, she cut locks of black hair until it fell in spidery piles at her feet. Then she stood, silent, her chest heaving from the effort. Her neck was now bare, which was a strange sensation

Elphaba looked at the piles of hair lying like black snakes against the deep, red blood that now stained the floor. Then, she turned the knife toward her chest, wanting the plunge it through her own heart. However, her torment became so strong she couldn't breathe, and she began to hyperventilate. She collapsed to her knees and dug her fingernails into the floor, trying to regain control. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, but a few tears escaped anyway and burned in fiery rivulets on her cheeks.

Elphaba moaned as the grief became unbearable. She reached deep into the power that lay within her and tried to will Fiyero free from death, much the way she had possessed the broom to fly. But nothing happened. In the silent stillness, Elphaba began to give in to insanity. She began to tumble into a dark place where there would be less pain. After a time, her world finally went black, and she collapsed onto the cold, stone floor.

Elphaba lay there, motionless and altogether removed from this world.

* * *

Dawn broke with little fanfare the next day, and the sun struggled to push light through the thick clouds that blanketed the city. Nyalana, Besnik, and Sun had managed to find Zaar, after Malky had come to them in such a bizarre panic the night before. He had sputtered about something horrible he'd seen, and they were all terrified of what they might find.

So they followed Malky to the corn exchange, each pretending to be alone and on his or her own mission, until they were a few blocks from the exchange. Then, they walked the last few blocks together. The Cat reached the door first and hesitated. He was deeply troubled what he'd seen the night before, and he was terrified for Elphaba.

The four of them stumbled through the door together, and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

What they were seeing seemed to be a trick of the light, at first. Elphaba lay sprawled on the floor, and her skin was stained a strange, reddish-purple from the blood. Her hair was shorn off unevenly, as though she'd lost it in a struggle. They deduced what she'd done, however, when they saw her fingers still clutched the jagged, rusted blade.

"Fae!" Nyalana went to her, and knelt by her friend. She felt for injury, and then shook Elphaba by the shoulders, trying to wake her from what seemed to be unconsciousness. However, the green girl's eyes were open.

"Is she…?" Besnik could not finish his question.

"She can't be dead, she's breathing," Nyalana noted, pulling the ancient knife from her friend's hand.

"Look at what she's done…" Zaar trailed off. Zaar was not one to miss much, and she clearly understood the touch of insanity it takes to shear off one's own hair.

Sun, not being one for many words, knelt and lifted Elphaba. It was easy, with her being so thin, in spite of her height. He carried her up the steps to the room above, and then froze in the doorway.

"I warned you that it was bad…" Malky softly explained as they others gathered behind him.

Still, Sun carried her to the bedroll and laid her down.

As Nyalana and Sun tried desperately to wake Elphaba, Malky padded across the room. Besnik followed.

"I thought you said there was a body?" the Dog asked quietly.

"There was…" Malky trailed off, trying to make sense of it himself.

Yet clearly, Fiyero was no longer in the room. There was no evidence of a body having been moved, especially one that had spilled as much blood as covered this space, and yet he was gone. It troubled Malky, but he hadn't time to dwell on it.

After several hours, Nyalana and Sun conceded that they could not force Elphaba to respond to them. They tried to remove the blood from her arms and face, using the oils they found on the counter. Her hands were quite stained, however, and the effort was futile. Elphaba did not respond to any of it. Whatever depth of insanity she had sunk into, they could not pull her from it.

Nyalana choked back tears, as she mourned for her friend. She remembered having so harshly criticized her for her relationship with an Arjiki prince. She had wanted nothing more than to have been proven wrong, and for this not to have ended in tragedy.

"What should we do?" Besnik looked at the others with deep, soulful, shepherd eyes.

"You can't take her with any of you, it's too conspicuous. It would get all of you killed," Zaar commented. She knew more about the Gale Force than any of them.

"The mauntery…" Malky spoke up suddenly, remembering, "The mauntery in St. Glinda's square…there's a young maunt there…someone she knows somehow. They would have to take her in, they offer sanctuary to anyone in need."

They all looked at each other, considering. And then, since none had any better suggestion, Sun gathered Elphaba up in his arms and carried her out of the corn exchange.

Nyalana stopped to gather the eclectic collection of items she knew meant the most to Fae. The old broom, the strange, pointed hat that only Fae could wear, the beautiful cloak, and the glass orb she loved were all stashed in a satchel. Then, they each took a different path across the city, to meet in St. Glinda's square.

The day was blustery and cold, and evening set in early, as it often does in winter. Under the cover of darkness, Sun sat Elphaba at the door of the mauntery and wrapped her cloak around her thin shoulders. Lovingly, Nyalana placed the satchel with her and rapped on the thick, wooden door.

The four of them slipped into the shadows across the square, and watched. The door opened and the youngest maunt startled at the sight of Elphaba. Malky's heart constricted. He feared this was goodbye, and he hadn't had the privilege of a proper farewell. He realized now the depth to which she had affected and changed him. He was gripped by sadness at the prospect of living without her. Malky wished he could make her see how much she had done for him, that what she done in his life was enough to be considered greatness. Elphaba had brought Zaar back to him. She had given him hope and courage, and even a reason to live a little better.

_To the world, you are one person, but to one person, you are the world…_

Malky wasn't sure where the quote was from, but it seemed appropriate. He looked up to see tears on Nyalana's cheeks.

_You changed the world for us, Elphie …_ The Cat thought as Elphaba disappeared into the mauntery.

Then, they found themselves alone. There was a sense of hollow finality.

"Be well, Fae…be well…" Nyalana whispered to herself, and they all wordlessly agreed.

_Be well…_ Malky thought as he returned to the corn exchange one last time. He found it strangely quiet, and completely devoid of a body that all logic said should have been there. It made no sense. Yet senselessness seemed to have taken over, and the Cat let it go as he curled up into sleep.

* * *

For Elphaba, time stood still. The sun rose and set, the moon waxed and waned through its cycles, yet all was lost on the haunted, green woman. The maunts tended her, and Eliana sat with her for long hours.

She was the first to notice the swelling in the Elphaba's belly. Eliana had been changing her bed linens, trying to make her sit up to keep her circulation healthy. When she wrapped her arms around the thin frame of her patient, she gasped when she felt a hard, roundness in her abdomen. The young maunt went for Sister Nurse, who had failed to procure a more unique name in her time at the mauntery.

With casual indifference, she examined Elphaba, "What's been done, you cannot change. The body knows what it's doing," she said, and left Eliana alone with Elphaba again.

"Oh Fae…" Eliana took one slender, green hand in hers and pushed a few heavy clumps of hair away from her face. The dark locks were shorn off so unevenly that they grew in frayed confusion, aggravated by lack of care. The young maunt located a brush, and methodically pulled it through the snarls and tangles, lifting up prayers for her patient with every stroke.

Some months later, in the midst of a sweltering summer, a baby's small cry split the clear, star-speckled night.


End file.
